Elvhanohn
by banxi
Summary: Oesidas and Leythir are Gransys' latest living legends, a pawn and his master, stealing the spotlight from seemingly ordinary folk wherever they cast their gaze. But, when the Arisen takes a step up, and invites Theda, the young elvh whited hair into his party, things take a whole new turn, and suddenly the dragon isn't the most pressing thing on their mind. Arisen/Pawn/OC/Julien
1. Gryphon

Elvhanohn,

A fanfiction by Lara Smy.

**Hullo! Seeing as this is my first fanfiction on here, I'm not exactly sure if we have to state a number of chapters or describe the pairings that will take place but I will anyway. As for the number of chapters, I cannot say. T'will be long, that's for certain, like a small book. I take pride in the length and detail of my pieces, and the reaction of the readers. The pairings…will be discovered later on, no? It will be fully based around my Arisen, Oesidas, and his main pawn, Leythir, with first-person chapters from my OC, Theda, and memoirs from Julien, also. It will wholly involve all of the main storyline, unaltered, with a few of my own things thrown in of course. I also changed the spelling of Griffin, to Gryphon, and fairies, faeiries, and goblin, goblinkin etc. The chapters will also be named as such; Annex of the First, Annex of the Second, etc, such is the traditional Elvhanohn way. (Elvhanon are basically elves, with a few of my own Pagan/Celtic beliefs and ways of life thrown in. And a bit of dragon age language. © to Bioware ofc.) **

Prologue; Fragments from the memoirs of Theda'Elvaeti

T'was not blind luck that saw me clinging, beaten by the harsh tongues of wind and blinded by its velocity, to the tail of a creature I knew naught of. I later discovered t'was a Gryphon, as I was berated and mocked for my late, brash decision to plunge deep my dagger into the flesh of its thinned tail. Perhaps it was the recent death of Doe, my wide-eyed, naïve little sister who understood naught of any Wyrm, or beast, and wasn't the one clinging to the side of the desiccated watch-tower, as the wails, screeches, and occasional sounds of ripping flesh of none other than a human, echoed around the walls below. No, t'was I, choking on silenced tears that ran lines of salt down her face, staining them for a few days on. Ignorance was my sisters greatest virtue, or so I once thought. T'was only the sweet draw of sleep, or sometimes unconsciousness, that quelled the ache in my heart and the pressure in the throat when she was taken from me. We Elvhanon were a reclusive, vagabond people, seen only as pawns with pointed ears to the humans of the world. Our kind held together with naught a thought of any that would shun us from the land. I lost my mother to Gransys, my father, now my sister. My father was murdered as an example to a group of bandits that we were not to be tolerated in this land, or any other. My mother, took no heed of her children and ran back to our bordering country. I cannot imagine she survived. Now Doe, beaten limp by a harpy with no regard for humanoid life. It left me, Theda'Elvaeti, the inexperienced girl from Tel'mehen with the inked face she'd bore since she was but a whelp, wheezing and tossing in her mothers arms. So no. T'was not blind luck that threw me on that path that I assumed lead t'wards my death. T'was choice. Fate. Destiny, hereafter, call it what you will. I wanted to die. But, I did not. I will ne'er not be thankful to the Maker for that small mercy.

Annex of the First

A gemshorn. That sound, t'was impossible for it to reach the ears without spurring the desire to rest a while, it emanated a calm aura such as it was, that it needed to words to accompany the tune. Julien barely needed to still his horse to listen, as the beast gave a soft, steady release of breath, and quelled its harsh canter, along with the clop of its hooves. All the man with the golden hair could see of the source, was the top of a watch tower, and a few stands of whited hair, buffeted to his field of vision by the mild wind. Soon, however, t'was blocked by his animal, craning its thick neck with a flick-forward of its ears, to better hear the tune. Absently, Julien found that something in the depths of his mind, pushed forth the memory of sighting an ox missing a horn naught but a few moons before. At first, this action was seen as an act of a goblin, perhaps, but upon closer inspection – as close one could get to an ox afore its agitation reached peak – t'was noted, the care the culprit took. They had taken a clean blade to the horn, precision slices as not to initiate disturbance, then wrapped the leaves of a nearby tree around the stump, tied off by what appeared to be reeds. Juliens curiosity had been sated but, at the same time, piqued to its boundaries. Who in the Makers name, be it human, pawn, or beast, would take such care over an animal used only for its meat and strength?

"Well-met, tuneplayer."

The music ceased with all the haste of a Saurian without its tail, and the whips of hair disappeared. In their place, two pale hands, pulling up, into view, a girl, no more than a few moons passed since her twenty-second year on this world by the looks of things. The eyes on her were ringed with hues that appeared to resemble the nature of all the countryside, blue, flecked with green. Dark eyebrows set over them, furrowing her brow. Next thing that leapt to his eye was the difference in her eyebrow color, to her hair, which, of course, was a dull white. It fell down her back in a series of curls, pulled into a hairstyle he knew not the name of. His people would call it a plait, but t'was crowned by a circlet of silver. But, what shocked him most, were her ears. Pointed as if sharpened with a knife, or made in their likeness at that, were prominent above all else. Along with the intricate, inked patterns on her face, drawn along her cheeks, eyes, chin, leading down her neck. Stained with dirt though she was, the girl held herself proud. An elvh. Never had he seen one.

"T'was you who stilled your horse naught mere seconds ago, then? A shem dressed in garb to mimic that of a prettied-up fool, who hopes to wield a sword and come across as a knight? Too many-a-time have a I come across one such as you. Ride on, seth'lin. I've no need of you." The figure disappeared, as quickly as she came. Barely had he time to comprehend, before his words escaped, with no heed of his mind.

"One who would take to living in places long untouched by any but bandits, must be a bandit, no? If so, perhaps this, 'fools-knight', should have his sword through your gullet, no matter the beauty of the tune you play."

Silence.

"You carry a mace, fools-knight."

So this one had a tongue as sharp as the ears upon her head. It brought a silenced chuckle to his throat that he struggled to hold down. Truly, he should be naught other than offended at her ill-mannered tone. Alas, more inquisitions piled in his mind with each breath he drew.

"Yet you carry only a blade sharp enough to cleave a horn from an ox, and the heart to make tidy of your work. I cannot imagine you would fight back."

This obviously drew her ire to him, as she appeared once more, those eyes of her mere slits now. Before her sharp tongue could dance into a sentence sure to berate him with her wit, a cry pierced the air, and from there on-out everything was a blur of motion. A winged beast broke into the sky with the wail of passers by soon heard by all, as they scattered from whence it came. A Gryphon, an abomination by any other name, it's screech almost as detrimental to morale as its claws were to health. The sharp whinny of the panicked creature that bore Julien upon its back was heard in seconds, and it rose up, almost throwing him off had he not been expecting it. Leonidas had always been a skittish horse. But it was not his main concern right now, no. The girl with whited hair had disappeared from view, just as the beast flew straight for her perch.

Theda had always been rather intelligent. What she lacked in tact, she made up for in witty comments and sly glances that quelled any argument in a man, woman, or, with a usually kinder glance, a creature. Though not a Gryphon. No, she had naught a hope to simply stare at the beast 'till it scampered off to lick its wounded pride. So, in a moment of pure, three-parts heroic, two-parts foolish, she leapt up as the creatures claws grazed the edge of the wall. Hands dug into its underbelly at first, and it gave a sharp scream and its wings bellowed with effort to shake her, and it did. Partly. The girl slid, raking its flesh as she went, to its tail, where she held fast. The wind seemed to work in sync with the beast in several attempts to rid itself of the elvh that held it, the petty wingless creature that held only a rusted dagger in her hand. As they parted, further and further from the ground, the fool-knights cries became softed, blotted out by the rush of air that created a popping sensation in my ears. What was she doing? She knew not. Grounding the beast, was her only thought, twas only survival that ran circles in her mind now.

So she did what she did best. Theda found grip, steadied herself, and began to climb. The beast struggled in the air, keeping aloft through its panic (or ire) as she remained slowly, slowly making her way up. The girl was at its midsection, burying her dagger in each piece of flesh she could to muster the strength and hold she needed to stem the fall to her death. Still, the air screamed in her ears, her hair whipped back from her face, only blue, and cloud in sight now, throughout her entire span of vision, nothing but that. Occasionally her grip would stutter, she would stumble, legs throwing out from beneath her as she neared its neck. It was lowering now. She need only pierce its head, into its brain, it was her best attempt to slay the beast.

She reached its crown, dug her heels into its shoulder, and gripped the handle of her blade tightly, surely, with two hands. Raising it above her head, her heart thundered with every second that passed. The dagger seemed to bring itself down of its own accord, as she feared she could not do it. And the wail that sounded, near shattered its hearing. It thrashed, and she almost fell, but naught before getting another stab. Her dagger plunged through its flesh, but struggled to pierce its thick skull. Again, and again, until before she knew it they were falling. It was light being weightless. There was no fight, like when she was climbing the beast in flight, instead she separated from the creature in what seemed to be a motion that slowed the world around her. The rush of wind still played in her mind, but her body felt light, peaceful. Not like the Gryphon that fell with a thundering crash beneath her, screaming and thrashing still as guards poured o'er it. Now, the only thing that awaited Theda was the Brine. And she accepted it.

Julien watched the girl fall. He had been thrown to the ground by the impact of the Gryphon, and his hand went to the mace that rested by his side, shield ready to block any lightening that forked in his direction from the creature that barely clung to life, blood pooling atop its head and spilling over its sides. Ser Maximillian watched too. The blonde-haired man saw him wave a group of his men t'ward where he thought she would land, and he and others made haste for it. T'was too late. The girl fell to the depths of the water almost immediately enveloped by the fog beast that lurked in all waters of Gransys. Julien skidded to a halt, scouring for any sight of the girl with the beautiful music. But there was none.

Fragments from the memoirs of Theda'Elvaeti

"Search for her! She felled the beast –"

"My men, felled the beast, ser Julien. By our swords did it fall, twas naught to do with your fantasy fluteplayer. Ser Maximillian was at the scene of the battle, ne'er through this escapade has he stated he saw any girl."

The water clogged my lungs, made it hard to breathe but – breathe I did. Though it stuck in my throat and brought forth a soft, rasping sound. Their conversation continued.

"Ser, I will repeat my question. Did you, or did you not, see a mystery girl fall from the sky?"

Another voice, though I'm sure not the one the question was directed at. A cocky one. Thick accent, quite deep, rumbling. "Are you just frightened that the glory will be taken from you again, ser guard? I did arrive mere days ago with a hydra head in tow. Perhaps, tis you trying to vouch for the Dukes favour?"

My entire body ached, their conversation faded in and out, I heard the word Arisen. I thought I was dead, but the liquid that near smothered my form and lapped through my hair reminded me I wasn't. But I was, in a lot of pain. Gritting my teeth, I finally opened my eyes, seeing that I vaguely realized where I was. Ashore, below a cliff, where the arguing men still stood.

"Fool—" I started, but could not continue. Twas enough to silence them however, I could practically imagine at them looking at eachother in bewilderment.

"Fools—knight." I near wheezed, and the sound of hasted footsteps followed soonafter. The world was fading in and out, I vaguely remember being hoisted from the water, having it flushed from my lungs, being jolted about, muffled voices. Then it all went dark.

When I awoke, I was in a place not too familiar. From the cell doors, and the musty smell, along with a few bones scattered here and there I figured I must be in a dungeon. But for what cause? Bandages covered almost my entire form, underneath some rags that had been thrown on. I squirmed in my own skin at the thought that someone had to actually undress me to heal me up, then consoled myself by figuring it some kindly old woman with a crooked nose and a back to boot. Twas a better thought than a leery, wisened man with naught a woman in his bed for centuries back.

Naught minutes later did a man appear, stated that I was awake (tis something I assume he spoke to himself, as evidently, I knew I was not in slumber) and unlocked the door. I assumed I had been set there, in the dungeon, as they had naught else to put me, so I stood to follow him to wherever I would be directed to next, the thought that I had stilled a Gryphon not quite setting in the depths of my realization yet. I was wholly shocked when he simply threw me to the floor again, gripping the nape of my neck and hauling me out of the pitiable hole I recently sat in with most force. "Clever trick you done, knife ears, holding on to the Gryphon long enough to fool any that y'did in fact slay the thing."

Hands scrabbling to grip onto his, in an attempt to claw them off me, he merely continued. "Duke wants t'see you. Lost a few men because of that stunt you pulled. Gryphon done landed on some of our finest. 'pparently, you see, t'was fleeing when you decided to try and steal a mere moment of glory." Not that I was listening. No, I was trying to lift my legs up so they didn't bash against the stairs – which, caused an unrelenting pain to coarse through my already throbbing limbs. "Julien argued that you must have at least helped, but the man ne'er was one to care about many but himself or the men at his tower. I wouldn't hold out much hope he'll be helping you. Ah – here we are." Opening a large door with a series of creaks, he swung me back, then released me forward, sending me rolling along a carpeted area. Forehead touching something soft, I scarce wanted to move. I knew not where I was, nor why I was being treated as such, but sure as, my head raised in the end, and I stared along a little further before catching sight of a small group of men. The first, a jester, who ran up to me and started chittering a voice that made me wish I had killed him, and not the Gryphon. Head pounding, blocking out all sound in the end, my muzzy gaze found Julien. Jaw tight, head held high, arms crossed over the shiny exterior of his armor. Then, by his side, another man. Tall, taller than most of the other men, dark hair stuck up on his head, and he wore simply leather armor, with a rather large hammer strapped to his back. The man had black eyes, with skin that could only belong to one who spent many hours by the water, soaking up the sun to brown ones skin. A fisher. From Cassardis. The Arisen. And by his side, his faithful pawn. Oesidas the Arisen, and Leythir. Of course. Oesidas' voice was the one I heard earlier. I'd heard he was one with a sharp tongue such as hers. I must have stared for a long time.

"The duke asked you a question, elvh."

I refused to remain crouched on the floor like some sort of lesser being. Hands splayed on the floor, I brought my knees up below me. Slowly, painfully. But I straightened up, wobbling ever so slightly.

"Evidently I did not hear. Not surprising, seeing as I just saved half your city from a Gryphon. Did that really warrant a kick? Or does your brutish, unintelligent nature call for violence where words cannot be comprehended?"

The knights jaw set, and I heard a low chuckling, afore the knights hand raised for another blow. I had myself readied for it, but a blade was unsheathed, and pointed at the knights throat. Almost falling backwards, I saw the culprit. T'was Leythir, the Arisens pawn, light brown curls spilling from a circlet atop his head and fierce, blue eyes fixed on his target. T'was Oesidas' voice that sounded however.

"You have done quite enough harm, ser."

A booming voice, loud enough to shatter the guile of a cockatrice, near thundered throughout the entire capital.

"Enough! I will not have weapons drawn in my Audience room. Newly Arisen—" Oesidas shot the man a glance, an uninterested one at that. "Control your pawn or I will no longer allow it inside the boundaries of my castle."

I watched him place a hand on the forearm of his pawn, and Leythir immediately sheathed it, retreating to the side of his master with his unnerving gaze never leaving his previous victim.

"I will repeat myself, _again_. Elvh, what you did killed some good knights. Be it your own idea of victory, or glory, t'was foolish. What do you have to say, for yourself?"

Silence. I could practically feel all eyes, boring into my soul. T'was the sudden urge to shudder, that instead made me stand up straight. I could not stop myself from letting my gaze linger on Julien for a while longer. The man had been staring into some corner, afore he evidently became aware of my glare, as they flickered to my direction but could not quite meet my gaze. Betrayal set deep, which surprised me. I assumed this man dishonourable the first I laid eyes on him.

"I did it for my own reasons. All that matters is that I felled the beast. I quelled its attack afore it even had chance to do damage. Four or five men are expendable, such is the way of the world. I will not stand here and be berated by a false king on a small throne, with naught but a ring of gold upon his head to serve as a badge of honour."

Again, the room fell quiet. Oesidas' gaze was on me. Scrutinizing me. Then the Dukes voice, filled with ire, sounded.

"There is naught for it. I was going to say you would spend many a moon in the dungeon to think over your actions, but now I—"

Oesidas raised a hand to staunch his words, reached me in three, long steps, put up hand upon my shoulder and finished the words with a sentence of his own.

"Now, she must accompany me on my journeys."


	2. An Elvhen Weapon

Annex of the Second; Part II

When a being hits the water without warning; there is a sharp pain of impact, then a feeling of being left without air in the lungs as it is violently sucked from them, either from shock, or from water. In this case, t'was shock, seeing as Theda was currently far, far away from any bodies of water – thank the Gods. Oenidas' hand, resting innocently on her shoulder, felt like it was about to drag her down. Many, if not all, were staring. Some scoffed, laughed even, surely he cannot be serious, they thought. But oh, the Arisen was one for jokes, sure – but not here. Not now.

All but Leythir had their eyebrows raised. The pawn exchanged a simple, albeit long glance with his master, and with two quick strides with his long legs, he ate up the distance between us. She fully took time to appreciate him, being so close. Hair sprouted, if short, along his jawline, but not enough to hide just how impressive it was. What had been previously thought to be curls, was merely the light, reflecting and bouncing off the many shades of brown that danced in the hair that fell a few inches from his shoulder. Previously, she had assumed his eyes were blue. But – they were both more of a white colour, hues blending in with the whites of his eyes, appearing to shift whenever his eyes did move. A circlet, made of leather, bound his head. Those eyes of his never left Oenidas, and Theda found a pang of jealousy, striking deep in her heart at the bond – the bond that was so painfully obvious. How faithful the pawn was, to his one master. Undying loyalty with…a flicker of something else.

"You jape, Arisen."

"I would not joke about a girls life, my beloved duke. –" The bile practically rose in Oenidas throat at the compliment he spat, nevertheless; he continued –"—or any life, at that. Give the elvh a bow, some daggers perhaps, perch her on my horse and we shall be off. The female will not bother you and, if she dies, it will be serving you, and the people you protect." The way he uttered 'protect,' he may have been spewing venom at the man before him. Theda had naught a clue why he hated the Duke so much, apparently he was revered as a hero in Gransys – for slaying the Wyrm. Right now, however, she was concentrating on the walls. They were spinning in slow, tilting circles. And the impact of the Dukes words hit her like the fall she so recently experienced.

"The elvh is your responsibility now, Arisen. You –"

His words were lost. As was consciousness.

White hair splayed over a coarse pillow, and eyes that differentiated in colour opened slowly, surely. A cup of something rested on a partially decomposed table next to the bed that Theda had evidently been rested upon. Though this was not in the castle.

A dull light seeping through the window suggested it was night. But twas no sound of beast that woke her from her slumber as usual. More, snoring. The soft chitter of crickets perhaps. The rough texture of her hair scratched across her face, and she squinted to see a very tanned man sleeping across the room to her, and an ever-loyal Leythir sleeping on the floor. No, not sleeping. Writing. His gaze flickered up and caught in the candlelight, turning his hues into a dancing blaze of orange., and his thick set eyebrows perked slightly, afore he rose. Silencing her with a finger to his lips, he made his way over to her bed, placing a foot on the side afore hoisting himself up, silently, wordlessly, to careen out of the window. At first, I had to stifle a cry, until his head popped into view, and he offered a sleek, scarred hand. No, not offered. Beckoned.

Theda pushed herself up by splaying the palms of her hands to the mattress of her bed, and using them as leverage. Equally as quietly, but not as elegantly, she moved out of the window, the pads of her feet cold against the rooftops. Leythir was already half way across the rooftops, landing on his toes and sliding across the house afore she had time to blink. She had no trouble following, and he must have known – even throwing her a smile once and a while, until finally, he reached the wall. Feet scrabbling for footholds, he was soon cross-legged, just waiting. And so was she.

"So, you are an elvh, yet you do not have the trademarked dark hair of one. If I recall, it is usually black, or the deepest red, to blend with the bark of trees, or dead of night."

His voice wasn't as soft as Theda had assumed. Calm, collected, but with an edge that suggested a trained killer. No – a trained protector. There was a coldness, as all Pawns voices held, but also a warmth, in the way it dipped in pitch sometimes, in the way he gazed. Not a romantic gaze, a peaceful one. As if he could listen to you forever, and ne'er bore.

"I was employed under a man, when I was very young. Worked washing the clothes of nobles. Some of us washed clothes, cooked food, mended carts. The colour of our hair made us easier to tell apart, to him. He…must have invented some sort of dye, it was unlike any I've seen." The wind ran through her hair, almost acknowledging her words. The woman could almost feel her head bent forward, rough bristles of a large broom, fashioned into a brush, scraped over her scalp until every strand of her hair was coated in the foul-smelling mixture. Leythir nodded his head, breathing in deeply, feeling the crisp air swirl in his lungs. "So you will be joining us."

A sickness pressed against the insides of her stomach. "Tis true then."

"It did happen rather quickly. This pawn doesn't understand fully the situation itself. Only that my master commanded that I give you these." The bow rested in my lap afore I could register that he even had moved. A finger ran along its lower limb and up its bowstring, eyebrows furrowing at the slight glow it gave off.

"This is naught like the bows I have handled before."

"'Twas a gift.'

Oenidas plopped down beside Leythir, forcing my form to jolt – and almost slide off the wall.

"'Twas a highly expensive gift, griffinslayer. Do not break it, else I may just be forced to lock you in a room with Feste for a decade or two." My look of bewilderment must have registered, as he flashed me his teeth in a grin. "I can always tell when my pawn is not by my side. " Leaving it at that, his body maneuvered around Leythir, to tap a circular hole where the arrow-rest should have been. "'Tis a bow infused with magick. I tested it once, though I prefer the larger, heavier weapons. Ones I can obliterate people with, not poke many small holes in them with." Leythir's head had also swiveled to watch the movement of his hands across the bow, the two mens cheeks temporarily brushing. "Concentrate. Pull the string back, let the arrow fly and play the scenario of it landing in your mind. You Elvhkin are adept at all this…magick, are you not? Your daggers are in the room."

My mind tugged at the information being fed to me, almost struggling to drag it in to my memory.

"My name is Theda."

Oenidas had begun to straighten, many clicks sounding from his back as he gave a groan of pleasure, afore leaning to take my hand, gripping it in his larger one in a firm shake.

"I guess we'll have plenty of time to get acquainted while we are slaying dragons and making merry with the citizens. And possibly getting highly intoxicated when the situation comes around." All jesting aside, he bowed his head – respect. Something I had not come across in a long while. "Well met, Theda. We leave to start the Wyrm-hunt at sunrise." Seeing as the orange tint of the sky was already starting to bloom out into the darker shades of blue surrounding it, it wasn't very long at all. Leythir rose, and for once, all jokes left the Arisens eyes. "Stay if you wish." The words were soft, but Leythir barely had to shake his head. He knew his place was with his master. Or, he wished to remain with him of his own accored. Oenidas nodded simply, then began to walk on.

"Oh – Julien wishes to speak to you, griffinslayer."


	3. The Unspoken Apology

Annex of the Third.

**Hey guys! I know the last chapter was a wee bit dull, but from here-on-out, there's nae more chapters like that, 'cept maybe two or three later on. Reviews of course, are appreciated - and it will also explain more of Theda and her people in this Annex. Enjoy.**

Back in Drazeelgahnen, which is a little ways off from Gransys, Elvhanon are born. From first breath to eighth year of life, they stay there, with their mother to guide them. A white-haired elvhs ears lowered as the memory seeped and swirled, into and through her mind, comparing the sapient Naga of her home to the irritant Harpy of this land. Cyclopes in Gransys, were the equivalent to Tarasque in Drazeelgahnen, large, wyrm-like creatures, with the claws of a bear and a tail - tipped with poison, with an appetite for those pure of sexual intimacy. An Ogre would be an Aswang, humanoid beasts with an appetite for anything that drew breath. To be precise - their blood. And of course, an ordinary human, would be an Elvh. Beings as old as time, often mistaken for being a deceptive, fair-haired race, with a beauty to ensnare victims, that they then enslaved for their own pleasures. In fact, they were a dark-haired people, ordinarily with skin to match, able to move with silence, swiftness, and secrecy in all things. Favouring small, sharpened pieces of wood that grew only in their forests as weapons. Each had the tail of an ox, ears as pointed as the knives they carried, could mimic animal calls, and lives to last centuries. The only things that were different were the eyes. Elvahni of the North, had no hues, merely dark orbs. Elvahni of the South, always had two differentiating shades. Verdant, blue, hazeled like the bark of a tree. Theda was a southern child. A southern child that missed her home, despite all its dangers.

All the dangers that could easily flay the skin from Juliens face.

After Oenidas had left her, she had spent many and hour debating over whether or not to grace the blonde with her wonderous company. And if she should bring a festival pie filled with rat piss and sharp objects to force feed him. Oh yes, a twittering maid with all the intelligence of a half-dead Cyclops had clucked on about how much he liked those - "_Sometimes I leave some on his desk, such a busy man needs a treat once in a while." - _said she, whilst introducing Theda to her new prison home. T'was a bed. And a big steel bucket. With hot water in it. Also known as, the deserted room of a cleaner, who polished the bars of the prison doors, in the dungeon _above _the pitious hovel. Frequented by many a happy-looking fellow, she was sure. Theda was also driven to fulfill that job herself, else she'd have no home to go to. The duke was a gracious kind like that, with his gracious smile and his gracious demeanor and how graciously he'd burn in a fire. All of this happened, of course, when and after Theda had refused to accompany her new slavedriver to his hometown to buy new clothes for her. T'was not the most heroic of quests. So she stayed at home - and got herself a few hours in the dungeon by breaking open a few boxes to amuse herself. In this Demense, the guard kept a close watch.

So that is where she sat, gripping a stick from the corner of the room that she'd wrestled from a rather large rat - a rather large rat who now skulked around her, just waiting for a moment to steal in and initiate yet another duel for the wooden object. For now though, Theda amused herself by drawing faces in the dirt, stabbing them, throwing rocks at the walls, and chittering the tune of a common bird to invoke the ire of the guard standing outside. Speaking of which, that moment was when his ugly face sneered up against the bars. "Do as your told, wench, and a bit of gold might earn your freedom."

The next rock made a rather amusing sound as it thonked against his front teeth.

Ser Jakobs form hustled to get to the keys on his belt, practically hissing with rage, afore a familiar voice sounded. The words were muffled, but that accent was unmistakeable. Theda bristled, the rags that adorned her petite frame rustling as she scampered over to the wall to hide. Nevertheless, a few seconds, dark skin was replaced by that of a fairer nature, and eyes scanned the darkness. Finding only a rat, blonde eyebrows raised, and Juliens voice rung once more. "T'would do you no ill to appear, Theda. I have but one item to return to you, then I shall leave you to your own...devices." Disdainful was his gaze, as his eyes adapted to the digusting hole she had been thrown in. "May I add that with the Arisen in Cassardis 'till the sun sets o'er the horizon, t'would do you well not to cause trouble for yourself. You will find he is the kindest soul you will encounter here, else the only one that can aid you in thus situations."

"Excluding yourself from the nature of kind does you no good, fool knight. I already know what kind of a human you are - I need it not to be confirmed." A pause, then the girl crept forward, crouched as if in pursuit of some sort of wild animal. "Do you have my horn?"

A nod, an extension of his hand, and her instrument came into view. Though she made no move to retrieve it. "You return it to me yet betrayed me so easily to save your pride mere days ago. In my mind, you lack honor, arrogance replaces it, the desire to stay happily perched atop the Dukes lap like a pet overrules all. On important matters, with a consequence as large as years imprisonment, you fail me, yet with trivial things you show kindness. I do not like you fools knight. Why are you trying to force my opinion to about-face? Your attempts are futile, at the least."

Like in the Audience room, the large mans jaw set taut, and his arm almost retracted. Instead, he only stretched it further. Juliens passion for his honor pushed bile to his throat, bile that formed to venom, which dripped from his tongue in words. "You are an Elvh. All you excel in resides in this small object. Playing music and seducing simple-witted creatures are your talents. I have no desire to bed you - so I will enjoy this talent once more, to listen to the songs you play, afore you become a bloodied smear on your so-called adventures with our infamous Arisen. I care not for you - you are not worth kindness. I merely - " Whatever he had to say next, was quelled with a smooth hand gently caressing the one of his that held the gemshorn - then the abruptness of a sharp pull, and bang, and a throbbing head as he was whipped into the bars. Theda was not a strong woman. Alas, ire is a strong fuel for the blood to boil. Julien slumped back, but not afore hearing the soft clack of horn against cobbles, and sighting the girl. A few seconds, a mere moment of catching her eye. Her expression. Hostility, a damaged morale - and somewhere, amid the mist of blue and green, an apology. Unspoken, but unfelt. The own mans eyes fluttered in confusion, 'till Ser Jakob stood twixt the pair, a coil of whip already held tight in his hand. The fair-haired knight stood, brushing himself down, afore pressing the back of his hand to his nose to stem the flow of blood, and wipe it clean from his face. Footsteps echoed against the walls as he marched off, tense, shamed. Shamed that, perhaps, he had been bested by such a small girl. Yes. That was it; wasn't it? Or was he shamed of the look in her eye, that she had so evidently regretted injuring him, even when he had left her to taste the lash of a whip for actions he provoked her to cause? Even from his temporary room, could he hear the disturbance of wind, the rip of flesh. Though - no screams came. Naught but the occasional grunt. Then - afore long, the melody. The melody of a horn.

That night, his lantern burned, causing tendrils of dark to shy from the light, to cleave a path through the night. The song ran circles in his mind, pulling all thoughts of his quest to pieces - the quest to put an end to Duke Edmun Dragonsbane, to put an end to the reputation of Gransys, and make way for other homelands. His homeland. The song held faces, the faces of Oenidas, the man heartless only in physical terms, who through all his bravado - would die upon his own blade if it meant saving his home. Leythir, the member of the despised pawn race, who would risk all and any for his master, loyalty never thinning. And Theda - the Elvh, one who held no fear, the one who slew the Griffin with no second thought. The one who lacked ability to express emotion, to break through the wall she built twixt her and all, though that look. That expression - he knew not how to explain it. Though it stuck, in the back of his mind. Sitting.

Somewhere, a bird sounded - and he snapped into focus. Made his way to the rendevous. Forgot all but his current objective.

And silently, steadily, three figures followed.


	4. Seeking Salvation

**Annex of the Fourth**

**Here are some name pronunciations; Theda'Elvati (Th-ay-dah-El-vay-te), Oenidas (Hw-eh-nii-das), Leythir (Lay-vir).**

Thedas nails dug fast into the stone of the rooftops, bringing her legs under and out from beneath her in movements much alike that of a predator stalking its prey. Released from her torture early due to the return of the Arisen; he who berated both Jakob and Julien with no attempt to obscure his anger - his deep voice undulated 'gainst the walls of the castle for hours after he was prompty removed from the premises. The air skimmed across her bare back, as Oenidas had returned with a bundle of thick clothes to provide comfort and protection both - though the thin Cassardi shift offered no shield from the cold. Feeling the breeze run across her flesh, dipping down in to the fresh crevices a whip had left, it only spurred her on. Thick, white hair thrown in to a bun to stop the waist-length strands from near smothering her, she stalked the light; and its source. The knight was intelligent. Sneaking out like this. Even she had not known he had departed 'till Oenidas summoned her, explained that they must fulfill a task for a friend of his. Mason. A man with skin dark, though not alike the Arisens himself, and an ear for secrets. Sighting that mane of yellow, they three had exchanged glances, 'till Oenidas beckoned for her to climb atop the rooftop, and ne'er allow herself sight. Which was not difficult.

Sharp raps knocked her mind back to focus, eyes differentiating in colour slitting as they regarded the bulk of a male entering through a door which appeared too small for his size. Stifling a snort as he ducked low to avoid a few bruises, she sighted her companions, already low to the ground and running across the cobbles to a window. Stretching out on the balls of her feet, she reached the roof of the abandoned house with ease, but lacking the elegance many thought he had. There was a lot of silent flailing and rolling around. Practicality was her strong point, making her transferall from building to building look nice was not the first thing on her mind.

Her interest in what the man was getting up to had flucuated with each roof she had scraped her skin upon, but now, as she nursed the scratched surface of her hands, her interest piqued - rising like the pitch of the girls laughter that followed. Fingers digging into any crack she could find on the wall to steady herself, she dipped low to peek through the window, hanging upside down and near invisible against the wall, allow, say, her white hair. Even that was dirty, so it provided good camoflauge.

Heels clopped loud on wooden floors inside the shop, and a voice. Predictably one of a female, as so far Julien was not one to strut around in high-heeled shoes and giggle like a small child. Well, so far. "Just what is this scrap to you?"

Through the haze of her eyes adjusting to the sudden light of candles, Theda made out the shape of a rather promiscuous looking young woman. The, uhm...crevice between her two breasts was flopping out of her shirt like a prized possession. That same crevice that a small scrap of what seemed to be paper was carefully placed within. "Loose those lips and might be I repay in kind." Thedas nose wrinked slightly in silent disgust, moreso when a more masculine blonde crept into her vision, pulling the scrap from the woman with no much as a second glance at what she was so obviously flaunting. Theda wondered how many diseases she harboured.

There was a moment where eyes flashed in her direction, and she retracted from the wall, sharing a glance with Leythir as she tilted her head back, as far from the opening as possible. To her surprise, he winked - perhaps a trait he had stolen from his master. The one who stood, livid, with his back to the wall. It seemed they had swapped personalities. "Good work." That was Julien. The accent gave it away - and with a taut nod from Oenidas (who seemed, at this point, to have caught on with the fact she could see what was going on) that she took to confirm t'was safe to scale down again, she lowered herself to see. Something thrown at the woman. She'd hoped it a brick. No such luck, t'was a bag of items that jingled as the collided in the thin fabric. Coin.

A bulk flashed past the window, and Theda recoiled, 'till that same clip clop of heels paraded across the floor, after the heavy thunk and clink of armoured boots. "Anything else I might...work on, for you?" That purr was beginning to iritate, as was the chirping harlot herself. From Oenidas' set jaw however, she took it he knew the woman. It was blithe to see her thrown up against the wall by a large arm, which was then held midair as if to ward her off - like her mere touch was revolting. "I bid you good day." Came that low growl from the knight, who even through his disgust, maintained his gentlemans aura with his words. Perhaps not his tone. Though, could he be blamed? Tilting her head to catch the eye of the man opposite her, an eyebrow raised only to find both him and Leythir storming down the path. Well, the Arisen storming. Leythir merely...shadowed him.

E'en the day after, as Oenidas near threw me atop his horse, did he not tell me why he did so. Perhaps angry at Mason, for suggesting Julien had something to do with Salvation. Perhaps he believed the man was indeed a part in their ploy. Theda didn't, not for one moment. Through her hatred, she saw he could not fall enough to be at level with the likes of a cult. No, he was far too self-respected for that. So when Ser Maximillian, who avoided Thedas eye as if she bore some sort of plague, handed them the right to the Wyrm hunt and set them upon a journey to investigate the very cult that was atip the tongues of all, no one objected. Perhaps t'was morbid curiosity that spurred the group t'ward those Catacombs. Perhaps was merely a sense of duty. For the two pawns that followed, Leythir - and a newcomer, Serenede her name was, t'was that for sure. Though, for a human and an Elvh, that shared both a horse and a troubled mind, their reasoning for accepting the task afore else was unknown.

A hand was constantly atop her bow, ready to draw it back, concentrate on creating that single, magick arrow that would find its way to goblins head, or a Cyclopes eye in moments. Seeing as she sat in front of Oenidas on the beast that carried her - a lolloping, powerful shire that barely noticed there were two riders in the stead of the usual single passanger - she was the one with the weapon always at the ready. Serenede held her staff by her side, Leythir his hand ever at his sheathe as they neared the catacombs with, suspiciously, no resistance.

Entering was trickier than expected. Not once or twice did the party trip - more like five times each. Theda ended up with her previously washed form soaked in dirty water within mere seconds of entering...and slipping down the rocks. A single tree sprouted near the entrance, and for a while, the elvh stopped to admire it. For its apparent determination to grow in such damp conditions, though no leaves peppered its branches. Taking a moment to splay her hand 'gainst its dead flesh and murmur a silent praise in her native tongue, she bowed her head in respect. Many would have thought this an odd gesture. But Elvhani were taught to respect all. Except humans. Humans were below dirt in their culture - due to their treatment of eachother.

"Keep a close watch on our surroundings." That was Serenade. She had a brusque voice, none to match her appearance. Dark hair, light eyes. A sorcerer, healer most like. Could also cause blindness, which was useful. Oenidas apparently, oft had her accompany them. Theda argued not, the pawn was respectable - something not often thought of a being such as herself. Though, there was something about her talent, and the way she held herself, that suggested she cared not for others opinions. Theda eyed her as she bent to pick up an empty flash, securing it to her belt. Pawns had a liking for obtaining spontaneous objects as they went about their daily business. Leythir had shuffled through a chest, half buried with moss and containing only a few human remains, only to pull out a bottle of something. Salubrious brew, he called it. A remedy of a witch. The elvh wasn't going to ask.

A low, droning wail seeped from the walls, and the ground near gave way beneath the feet of those who trod upon it. "The Undead!" Someone roared, and Theda caught sight of Oenidas both swirling, and whipping out his large hammer-like weapon at once. Indeed, humans were crawling out from under the ground, mouths open in a mask of terror. Or hunger. Teeth knashed as a hand lurched forward, snapping shut like a vice around the ankle of whoever was closest - and Theda immediatly brought down her daggers upon its head. Though it had little effect. The room was alive with chaos and blades within seconds, the shuffle and moan of undead forever present.

"Fire - they hate fire! Wreath your weapons in flame!"

A small light, an odd sound, and all weapons on her person were alive with the dance of fire. Though the elvh was the only one to stutter at this abrupt change, 'till she was flat on her back with the force of a frontal attack from yet another walking corpse. Kicking herself from her precarious position, she drew her bow, dancing to the side just as she let fly a glowing blur of red and orange into the head of her assailant. It gave a muffled grunt, which quickly shred to form a screech, as it caught alight almost comically. The scent it gave off was putrid - burning and molded flesh. With a grimace, she whirled just in time to kick back yet another dead - this one female - and bring her blades in sharp, either side of her head. Blood oozed from the open wounds, and the thing collapsed, with a series of spasms 'till her form stilled. With a few slashes to the chest of yet another, and just avoiding having her face munched on, with a high kick to the face and an arrow to the head, the third beast lay still. Just in time to watch Oenidas' weapon smack against the head of an undead on the floor, she sheathed her daggers, shivering continually at the sight of the things. Stepping over soggy bits of decomposed brain and eyeball, she joined the rest of her party.

"Frightened of the undead, griffinslayer?" Came a snarky comment, which was ignored, as they waded through remains to the next passage.

Perhaps it was the passing of hours - the getting lost within the labyrinth of passages which tired them so, but when they sighted...no, heard the snap of bones and snuffle of an Ogre, they hid. Nothing could compare to the thumping of Thedas heart as it pounded 'gainst her ribcage, even moreso as the thing lumbered in the opposite direction after what seemed like an age of watching it rip apart any undead that dared to drag their feet in its direction. The stench, sounds and sight near made her vomit, but a reassuring hand on her shoulder every few seconds kept the bile down. Which was good news for Oenidas, who crouched near left of her. The beast steak they had shared earlier would have been making patterns on his leather armour.

"Do you hear that?" Leythir grumbled, tilting his head as if to better hear whatever imaginary sound he had conjured up. The elvh frowned, ears almost perking to mimic him. "I hear naught, Leythir. Naught but that rat." Poking the beast with the tip of her shoe to hurry it along, she huffed. Equal parts frightened of this strange place, equal parts bored and much desiring even the bed at the dukes demense. The first and only sleep there had been dreadful. A new prisoner had been brought in, a bandit, estranged by seemingly having watched his clan being butchered by a 'wild beast' which could be vaguely translated to a Chimera. His frightful wails and threats to the passing guards, along with scratching inside the walls, had forced her to retreat to the safety of rooftops. Even there she could not slumber for fear of slipping to the end of her journey - met by a sudden fall and a sharp collision of body 'gainst ground.

"A voice." Oenidas agreed, though Serenade and Theda were too busy scrutinizing a grave, the lid of which appeared to be shuffling about - as if doing some sort of odd jig. Then she heard it. "'Tis our curse that the soul must exist in such incompletion, while we maintain in this -" And that was all the comprehended, as all rational thought left her upon sighting three figures dashing off through a large room, t'ward the source. Evidently, she had missed the Arisens order to run, though now her feet carried her as if the wind itself nipped at her heels. It was all in vain however, as soon as the voice began its second sentence, the ground gave way - with a stomach-churning rumble and a drop - in to complete darkness.

Petrification in the form of fear coiled around her insides as the rocks piled up to seal her escape. All she held on her person was her weapons, a few poultices, and a dagger, enfused with the ability to ensue silence in a target. Unless she planned to stab whatever was making horrific crunching noises so her heart was a little more at ease in this darkness, she had naught use for it. A few more seconds of fear, afore she gently, gently set one foot in front of the other. And again. And -

something splattered 'gainst her arm. Warm liquid that near immediatly crept from its landing area, down her flesh. Shudder upon shudder worked on her spine, coalescing and undulating through her entire form. Blood. No doubt of it. Blood, and a soft moan. There was an undead in here. Perhaps more. No - that whimper was unlike any living dead she had heard. As she attempted to put the pieces together, her question was answered for her. A small voice pleaded for help beneath her feet.

The victim beneath the undead - was still alive.

Theda held it in no more, her entire form appeared to shatter in on itself as she almost fell to her knees. Instead, she kicked off, pelting the ground with her boots as she ran, in a straight line, somewhere, anywhere but here.

"It is but pains shadow, and no less, a transient illusion."

That voice, so close. Ignoring the following footsteps, ignoring all but that voice. And a light. Small, but in sight.

"For the soul cannot find true pleasure in this world."

So close now.

"This world which writhes and struggles against its failings, bludgeoned by its own heedless throes..."

A hand reached out from the darkness, as the elvh found the light source. A single candle - flickering lively in the surrounding darkness. An almost wail escaped her form, as the scrap of feet 'gainst floor neared. Leaning her form entirely against the wall, her eyes closed. This was it. Perhaps there would be an afterlife - she would see Doe. Her parents perhaps. Perhaps not. Everything gave in to oblivion within seconds - seconds of losing hope. Seconds of accepting death.

"Come to join our flock, Arisen?"

A deafening blow, a crumble of rocks, and she was falling. For a short while, till she hit the ground and was thrown across the dirt, rolling not a halt not far from Oenidas, who caught sight of her within seconds. Their eyes met, and the fear vanished from the younger girls immediatly. Those orbs of darkness he called eyes contained reassurance, an apology, relief. Everything he could not express. But it was enough. Turning his head, his lips pulled back in a sneer.

"Ah, the cripple from Cassardis. T'is you, the leader of such an organized band of psychopaths? I thought you only for a wizened old man, whose ramblings of the dragon brought only madness to himself and ire to others. It appears you fit that criteria even now, though a few can - evidently - withstand your rambling. They even seem...interested."

Theda stood, knees shaking, but weapons at the ready, too nervous yet to attempt to move closer to her accomplice. In her moment of disquiet, however, did she catch blue eyes widened in surprise beneath a mask of black and gold. Shock, and flickers of...fear. All she saw as the owner of those eyes departed was a wave of blonde hair, 'till laughter reached her ears. And magick filled the air.

"This...this is the answer, dear Arisen!"


	5. Blood and Steel

**Annex of the Fifth**

**Hi guys - sorry this took so long. Responses ordinarily give me inspiration to continue my works, and seeing as I've gone five chapters without one; it's kind of lacking. ;n; BUT, people seem to be reading it as I can tell from my views. So I'll continue. I must mention now that I based my Elvhanikin on many things. Fantasy elves, Nordic mythology, etc. Hence the ears, tail, ability to mimic birdsong. Elvhanohn are normally taller than human females, Theda will be about nose-height to Julien by her 30th, while her other, smaller cousins, the Elfinohn, are about the size of a palm - and are basically the same as the Nordic elves, with the hole in their back and the tail. (Oh, Theda does have a tail. But it got cut off. By her previous employer.) This is also probably a good time to mention Oenidas has a strong Cassardi accent. A really strong one. Oh and I kind of jiggled the events of the story around. They're all still in here, except the Wyrm Hunt quests will be given by Aldous AND Ser Maximillian. Oenidas isn't one to wait idly by to meet someone. He probably demanded an audience with Edmun, or just annoyed the guards 'till they gave him one.**

Wails pierced the thin veil of confusion that settled on the atmosphere like a harsh snow. The more effeminate of the hooded figures crumpled to their knees before the undead that ascended from the ground - whilst others swiped at the oncoming horrors of the netherworld as they enveloped each and every one of them, slowly, sickeningly so. Naught could conceal the echo of that mans laughter - the short, pig of a man with the scarred face and the eyes of a psychopath. Four figures, cut from the chaos by a barrier of swirling shades of some dark magick, stared at the scene with gaze held by pure carnage. Strips of skin, flesh were carved from the bone by teeth, fingernails, beasts. Theda had to thrust her dagger into the earth below her to steady herself, for fear of collapsing even if she already lay partially spread out along the dirt. She heard a low snarl, and with a pop, the barrier dissipated, leaving only Oenidas, weapon unsheathed, expression twisted to raw emotion by the sights he had seen. All usual personality gone. Now, only the Arisen stood. Unrelenting. Unforgiving. Furious.

A hiss spread throughout the air, afore flame leapt high from a line drawn on the dirt by some imaginary force. Many undead were drawn from their grisly meals, if not murdered by the fire, and their sights set on the intruders. One raised from its current occupation, only to to find the blade adjacent to Oenidas' hammer puncturing its form with a wet sound. Even moreso as t'was twisted, and wrenched from its victim only to come back down on its skull with a splintering crack. Leythir twisted to avoid gnashing jaws whilst contorting himself - with a swift cut, severing the beasts head. Serenade continued her flame attack, wreathing their weapons in the conflagration that ate through the skin of the bumbling creatures like it would paper. Crimson hit Thedas form, and it forced her features to crinkle to a grimace. Though fury perhaps spurred her on, though she may have stoked the fire of it - the one that burnt at her insides, seeping strength to her limbs. Fury at these creatures, at Oenidas for leaving her so easily, at anything. Her arms moved like light itself, dagger doing little damage, though the speed she was whipping them it amounted to enough to fell many of the beasts. One embedded its putrid teeth to the flesh of her arm, resulting in a large, gruesome chunk missing as she ripped herself from its grasp - though she panicked. The world gave way beneath her and she fell, head, strong as it was, near cracking 'gainst the harsh ground. In defense, her arms crossed above her face, as her daggers had made for a getaway, skimming across the dirt to her left. Though, before a flock of the undead could descend and chomp through her as if a starter course, a familar-looking dark-haired male ploughed through the centre. The Arisen, now rather wild-eyed, shouldered one out of the picture, only to have another amble in, arms outstretched and mouth agape, as if to embrace him in some horrific show of affection. Though, the butt of his blade found its way to its brain, somehow he had mustered enough strength to completely break through skin, blood and bone however, as the armament was soon wedged tween its chin and its forehead. With a growl fit to rival that of a dire, Oenidas abandoned his hammer, and merely gripped tight the hair atop its head - lessened though it was - and thrust it against the nearest solid object. Which so happened to be a wall.

It near exploded in his palm, blood and bone split in two, dripping from his fingers by the time he retrieved it from its ruined face. Though, t'was not horror that laced the features of the small elvhen girl, poised on her hands and feet as she watched her new leader obliterate his opponents. No, t'was something akin to astonishment. Though, it quickly buried itself underneath the now surfacing emotion. Disgrace.

Elvhkin regarded their pride in battle highly, be it believed or not. In some clans, if one was to fall in battle, and naught have the strength, skill, or ability to continue the battle, protect oneself, or ones allies - they were left for death. These were branded 'A'lerenthin.' The nearest human translation would be, the degraded. If lucky enough to survive, or be spared, they would slink off to the Naga. Whether they were accepted into an Elot or not, well, that was up to the Naga.

So as the last enemy was felled, Theda picked herself up off the ground, dusted herself off, retrieved her daggers, and refused to meet the eye of her saviour. Or anyone. The girl was so far wallowing in her own shame that she noticed not that Oenidas' attention was focused on her - and so was his slight irritance. "Theda. I asked if you were well."

"Physically, I am fine."

Oenidas lightly scooped pieces of organs from the crevices between his fingers, staring at her expectantly. "Do I get a thank you?"

"Good work in there friend." That voice seemed to echo throughout the entire room, spacious as it was. It caused every pair of eyes to snap to the door on the far side. "But come, I would have your ear for a moment." Leythir exchanged a glance with his master, afore evidently whatever question resided in those odd eyes of his was answered and he gestured for Serenade to trail him. Oenidas' attention returned to Theda. If only briefly. "I assure you - I know about the ways of your people, and we, less pointy-eared types don't abide by it. You best become accustomed to looking out for your allies, and for they looking out for you." His words were harsh, accompanied by his voice, but when I refused to look at him still, his palm soon rested on my shoulders. It gave a little squeeze before he continued. "Think on that, griffinslayer."

The owner of the voice was none other than the infamous Mason, the dark-skinned one who prowled the streets and gave them their previous objective of stalking the suspect. Well, Julien. Theda still hated him.

"The Elysion and his rats managed t'get away, but we caught this one. Seems t'be one of a higher ranking than the others, no?" They were standing in a small area lit only by one or two flames on the walls. The rest of the words were drowned by Serenade, who tapped Theda lightly to offer a kindness. "Your wound. T'is bleeding." Mason and Oenidas, along with Leythir and the Salvation member of course, were occupied and engaged in conversation, so they were ignored. "Badly." The woman added, rustling around in the pack she kept at her hip. Theda, of course, lowered her brows, creasing them along her forehead. "I don't need your aid."

"You're not my master. I don't heed your orders." Her tone was icey, but when she finally plucked an odd-looking bottle from her bag, she resumed her quiet posture. "Dessicated herbs - an old remedy. Here. Give me your arm."

Theda narrowed her eyes, still morbid from her disgrace earlier, but the throbbing of her wound was causing her peripherals to blur and blacken, so she obeyed. Plus, the undeads teeth had severed a substantial amount of flesh from her arm, but it had also caught on skin around its edge, also ripping that, so it ran along her arm in strips. Blood oozed from the slices. Theda dared not imagine how much had been lost. Strong fingers clasped around her wrist, and the other emptied the contents of the bottle on the teared flesh. At first, it stung a bit, then it intensified - moreso as the woman continued to rub the mush of herbs in. Unable to help herself, a hiss akin to that of a beast slid through Thedas clenched teeth, earning a grin from the pawn. "I knew Elvhkin could replicate animal sounds. Never heard it with my own ears before though."

"Animal and beast." The girl corrected. "I could probably fool a cyclops."

"You'll have to show me that some time." Once the mage had finished her handiwork, she produced a bundle of cloth, and tied it - not too tight - 'round the Elvhs arm. "I am complete. Pray, don't strain that arm for a moon or so." And Theda simply nodded, afore a slash and a low wail caught her attention. Oenidas stood, stone-faced and wielding Leythirs sword, as the hand 'gainst hand sound of clapping eminated from the darker skinned figure not far off. "Didn't think you'd have the gall to do in an unarmed man. I'm glad to see I may have made a trustworthy ally in you, friend. We'll bring this band of heretics to an end, you and I." And he was gone. The Arisen dropped the blade, and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. "We're done here."

Though they left through an exit closer to the Capital than their entrance was, naught had thought to equip a lantern. The journey home was almost as perilous as the catacombs themselves. And, after Theda had slipped and fell to the waters by Gran Soren, she was soaked to the bone. Which evidently did not help matters in the slightest. Though Serenade soon created a spark with the friction of her hands, allowing it to grow to a flame with the aid of magick in her palm and holding it near the Elvh girl, who shivered as if the very winters themselves made home in her form. As they reached the demense itself, dawn was breaking, and they were all bloodied, battered and exhausted. But at least Theda was not so wet now.

Feste awaited within, after they had been granted admitance he wasted no time with his japes. The jester danced 'round them as they trudged to Chamberlain Aldous, giggling and clucking and irritating as usual. "Sire will not be pleased with you, painting his home with the blood of your mighty enemies and soaking his fine...fine carpets! Arisen should arise from such poor manners!" Though, as Theda and Oenidas both shot him a glare fit to quell a Chimera, he scampered off once more. The Arisen himself had been quiet, secluded, a sort of silent brooding aura surrounding him on the journey to the place they both now called a home of sorts as he, rather unwisely, chugged a vial or two of white wine in the dark. Now, as he firmly shoved the doors to the audience room ajar, a grin broke out across his face. "Ah, the sweet smell of wine and cheese is such a blessing in comparison to that of blood and steel!" The few nobles in the room gave shocked glances, and gasps, some even left. They must have been a sight. Caked in blood, dripping wet, dirty, near-blinded by eyes adjusting to this new light at such early hours in the morn'. Theda abstained from dragging her feet along the ground, instead head held high, pride regained, somewhat. "Because blood and steel must be considered a more admirable scent, at least for warriors such as myself - as we are sent into the the thick of battle whilst the more privelaged folk gorge themselves in their fancy mansions with their fancy robes and their fancy harlot waiting faithfully for a turn in the sheets, no?"

Theda winced and grinned at once at his comments, evidently enjoying the sudden outbreak, but not the thought of its consequences. "I require an audience with Aldous! He - oh! I lost my hammer. Oh, that's right. It got stuck in the skull of a walking undead!" The man barked a laugh, but that sentence frighted the remaining nobles so much, they scurried into their own rooms - or out of the castle entirely. Luckily, the Duke was either asleep or simply in his chambers. Ser Mercedes, Ser Julien, and many angry-looking guard were now peering down from the higher level by now, however. Theda granted them all her gaze except one, afore tugging lightly on Oenidas' shirt. "That is enough, I should think. The Chamberlain comes."

And arrive he did. Near-running down the stairs, before he regained his composture. Wrinkles accentuating his expression of disapproval, he strode up the carpet to the hulk of a man he called the Arisen. "Arisen, it would serve you well to hold your tongue in situations such as this."

At once, his jibes were finished. His jaw set taut, his eyes locked on a fierce expression. "I just watched many people die, Chamberlain. And killed many in return. You, and all of Gransys, expect a great deal of me. I assure you, I feel I hold the right to say whatever I please at this moment in time."

Aldous was silenced. Naught to say. Oenidas was right. Of course he was. But evidently, there were more pressing matters. To her surprise, the Chamberlain focused in on her, eyes set in a mask of concern. Though not for her.

"It appears, we have yet another task to send you on, my friends. For your infamous gryphon-slayers name rings a bit hollow now."

It clicked immediatly for the rest of the party, though Theda scowled. "Explain."

With a clearing of his throat and a rising of his chin, the man continued;

"Your Gryphon still lives."


	6. Ne Fehram Ua'slin

**Annex of the Sixth**

**The first bit of this chapter is a bit more mellow than the rest. I was listening to Davy Jones' music box theme, ok? Don't judge. ;u;**

T'was raining outside. The first light of dawn had brought forth clouds to obscure its rays, and rain. The walls and rooftops stayed the oncoming storm however, and all inside remained calm, dry. Excluding Theda and Oenidas of course. Julien had been awoken from his slumber - said lightly, of course, as the man had hardly slept since his arrival to Gransys - by the clash of door 'gainst stone, and a thick, Cassardi accent bellowing throughout the halls. Grumbling as he donned his armour through eyes laden with sleep still, the man had lumbered from his temporary living arrangements to glare at the one he knew was going to be the Arisen. Now, his words muffled by wall, but his anger obvious to all, argued with someone in a room opposite Juliens. Through door ajar, as he sat at his desk, shuffling through papers that were of little import to him, eyes raised to settle on Theda, who sat on a small chair someone had provided a little ways off from the room. Oenidas' pawns were shoved from the premises, which only increased the volume of his roar. The Gryphon was back, so now whispers of lies from the Elvhen girl were on the tongues of any that cared to spread such tales. Julien knew little of her kind, but she didn't seem one to create such fantasies, then lie about them. Then again, he knew little of her, herself.

Once, he had seen, on his many walks through the capital when the sun just brushed the horizon, a mother and her child. The girl had been toying with a casket of something, apples, some form of food, he remembered no details. Only the look on her face when the casket broke, flooding the area around her with the delicacies. The mothers face went as red as the apples, and she swept her child off to place her on the edge of the fountain, and scold her. As she went to apologize to the stallholder, he remembered catching the childs expression. Brows knitted together, head dipped so her dark hair hid her features, hands clasped on her lap. That's how Theda sat now. A proud woman, reduced now to a reprimanded child as she stared on at the floor, listening to another fight for her. The question of why he stood up for her, and then let her down again, rose to his mind. From what he could tell, the woman was...proud. Like him. Like, even if she didn't like something someone was saying, she'd tell them. Or if she had an opinion, she'd make it known. Anything anyone did or said that was detrimental to her pride was shrugged off, ignored, or snapped at with a witty comment. But there was also something else. Nothing soft and vomit-inducing, like a kindness buried deep in her very soul. Something he couldn't explain. Something he sensed as he caught sight of her again, sitting on her little chair, tapping her feet 'gainst the floor.

Theda caught him at one point, however, lifting her head to scan 'round the room for a while, afore finding him. Neither wanted to be the first to look away, however. That would be a sign of weakness. To them, of course.

A pair of dark eyebrows lifted questioningly, returned with a light nod t'wards the door, which near shuddered at the force of the voice within. Thedas mouth twitched, and she lifted her hands in a shrug, dropping them with a slap 'gainst her trousers, which still dripped slightly, along with the rest of her. Julien offered a smile despite himself, perhaps the closest he could come to an offer of bearing a non-hostile attitude t'wards her. The girl just looked at him. The tattered strands of her hair, bad in condition already as it was, had frayed so much with the precipitation she had been forced to tackle it into a bun with a small string. Hair up, her tattoos caught attention most. Swirls with sharp corners and thin lines decorating her cheekbones, chin, above her brown, spreading out along her neck, disappearing in the high collar of her shirt. Julien had to blink afore he raised his eyes again, to a questioning glance. The urge to speak with her was great. Perhaps for one reason he was definately sure of - she wasn't going to pull his face into a set of steel bars again...yet. Theda seemed rather civil at this point. But afore he could gather his things, Oenidas burst out, tapping her forearm with his fingertips as a signal to follow. When she just stared, he practically pulled her out of the chair. Julien vaguely made out the words; "Hot bath."

However, as she descended the stairs, after what he took to the be the first and only friend she'd aquired over the three days he'd known him, Theda did something odd. Lifting her hand, her middle finger bent forward, to allow the tips of her grooming and ring finger to quickly cross behind it, afore it fell back against them. The smallest of them all seemed to stand to attention, whilst her thumb stood furthest from all. As if an outcast. Julien knew that, the Elvhanikin regarded symbols using their own bodies highly, though the meaning of any, he knew naught of. Later, however, as a servant entered his room to dust around the cabinets, he watched him for a while. Of all of them, he seemed the most educated. And he had seemed a little too excited of Thedas coming. Something that stirred a feeling in Juliens gut that made him feel ill.

"You, I must ask." Came his tone, that appeared to jolt the lesser man. Sure enough, though, he pivoted to face the bulk of a knight, lowering his eyes. "Yes, ser?"

"This..." Julien felt a little ridiculous mimicing the action that the queer woman had thrown his way, but he did it anyway. "...what does it mean?"

At that, the man brightened up considerably, afore recalling his place. "It's the Elvhen way of saying; 'N'e ferahm ua'slin.' Er - it means, something along the lines of...my respects. The Elvh use it as a sign of trust."

Trust? Julien near scoffed after he dismissed the man, with a thank you, of course. He may be of higher standing, but he remembered his manners where it mattered. The action got him thinking, much like that look in her eyes a mere moon ago. The woman didn't look like she'd touch him with a barge pole. Well, maybe she'd run at him with one. He remembered the smile he'd offered moments before. Offering friendship. Well...that term was strong, but still.

She'd accepted it. He took comfort in that.


	7. I Am Free, But I Am Lost

**Annex of the Sixth, Pt 2**

**So yeah I did this chapter in two parts, and I forgot to mention I'm adding a lot more of Salvation in this story. I felt they didn't get enough screen time. And...other things. Heh heh. They're a secret. Anyway; thank you to ConspiringDarkness for my review, hope you all enjoy. (:**

Julien thumbed through a book that must have been older than the duke itself. The servant man, Deniro his name was, had appeared to be rather fascinated by Drazeelgahnen and all of his inhabitants. After shuffling awkwardly into his room, he had placed a large, well-worn and yellowed book on his desk, afore sliding out again. Papers about Windbluff tower were practically shoved from the desk to sate the knights curiosity as he slipped a finger under the cover, flipping it to the first page.

The Elvhaniorem Compores.

By Edgar Hoselni.

Percieving the strange language to be Elvhen in tongue, he continued to flip through the pages. This was more like a journal, items stuck to the pages, pencil sketches on every other piece of paper inside. The first to catch his eye, was one of a full-bodied female. This section explained tattoos, something ordinarily difficult to comprehend for the plainer species of humans, but told in such a way that he understood all he read. '_Elvhani children recieve this skin-ink, known as tattoos, from their parents at around five years of age. Judging by their clan, rank and whether they are from the southern or northern part of Drazeelgahnen, 'The Dread Wilds', they either recieve black, brown, or golden markings. Some, however, break from this tradition, and have their skin ink whichever colour they desire.' _Brows creased, as he recalled Theda, her skin-ink was like the bark of a tree. Eyes scanning the pages, he discovered this meant she was a 'Na'serannas' - tree walker. All Elvhanohn could navigate trees, mimic animal calls and wield a weapon, but Theda and her kind had the natural ability to take all that to a new level. Na'serannas 'became one with the tree, the animal, the fight' apparently. According to the book, they were also the proudest of the clans. Their ability to fluently navigate the wilds and a battlefield gave them all they needed to survive, and excel amoung their fellow Elvhanikin. He came across a part that explained the matter of their pride, if it was wounded by them deserting their clanmates, failing in battle, or even falling from a tree they were sent to the Naga. If they survived. Julien remembered the look Theda bore when she sat, much alike a child, shamed and disciplined and awaiting whilst someone else fought her battles for her.

Then he finally halted at the point about the symbols. 'Bi'ren Masurhni' They were called. The hand sign the white-haired girl had shown to him perhaps half-an hour ago was depicted a few pages on. Ne'ferahm Ua'slin. My respects. Something he had not thought to find in such a woman.

Fingers tracing the illustration, he cleared his throat as his lips unwilling moved with the words. '_This particular symbol is not rare to find in Drazeelgahnen, many use it just in passing, but outside of their home the Elvh rarely have terms to show it, excluding the possibility of sighting another of their kind. In their home, to their kind, all three middle fingers come together in what is meant to be, the joining of the three Elvhan species. The ring and middle finger both cross over the grooming finger to represent the bond between the Southern, Northern, and the Ancient Elvhs.. The smallest finger resembles all things well, good fortune, health, pride, all of which are always ready and close to the Elvahnikin - whilst the thumb resembles all things bad. Now this is a common misconception, however, as namely, the thumb resembles all other races, and it is believed the smallest finger actually represents the Naga, those of which have been closely tied with Elvhs for centuries. But, some say, the thumb resembles humans. Although, to have the middle finger lay back 'gainst the two other main fingers is a different matter. The grooming and ring finger now represent one single Elvh, and their culture, their way. The middle finger, that later joins the others, is normally one human. Accepted into their life with no fuss. This is ordinarily a sign of great friendship, trust, and respect.'_

Julien slammed the book shut with a mighty _whumpf _- and made use of the back of his hand to swipe it from his desk, not bothering to watch it slide across the ground. Repelling himself from the table, he exhaled steadily, pinching his nose 'tween his finger and thumb. This was insane. The woman had made it evidently clear she did not like him nor desire his company, presence, and even seemed to resent him being in this world at all. His only desire to be in this filthy land at all was to rid them of Duke Edmun Dragonsbane, to quell his rule and with it, the power of Gransys, whose men had long since forgotten the constant threat of the dragon, and given in to their own selfish desires to protect the meagre positions they held. One land destroyed by the dragon would leave room for others, such as Boldoa. His land, she who stood proud, shadowed by the ever-growing reputation of Gransys. Neighbor to the sea that lead to the Drazeelgahnen.

No, stop it. That was not why he was here. Not to make friends with an Elvh, of all things. He would use Salvation, make them dance to his own tune, ruin the land of Gransys. But Theda, the Arisen. These two people made him rethink. Made him doubt. It was maddening, the thoughts began to press ever-more at his temples, making them throb and almost burn with it. Soon. It had to be soon. His men at Windbluff, without a speck of honor between them but the closest he could get to real warriors who would bend to his will, were almost ready. It wasn't time yet, but a few more days. Then he could be rid of this burden. Return home. Away from the girl with the mismatched eyes, and the man with the lions heart.

Meanwhile, those two very people had just separated - one muttering obscenities whilst the other padded quietly into her room, to a sight most unusual. Her bed had been made, the metal tub that sat, most awkwardly in the middle of the room, had been manouvered to the side, where it sat beneath a window, filled with water with a few sheep skins piled at its tail. On the half-decomposed table to the side, rested a small collection of meals. Orchard fruits, roasted wild game with a stuffing of some sort of herb, a large chalice of an odd, frothy mixture. Even a few chunks of venison lay scattered on separate plates. Thedas brows raised at a note alongside the feast. It read;

Well met, traveller. I fear I have not yet made your aquaintance, yet I hear more about you with each passing hour. Is it true you are Elvhan kind? How fascinating.

I do not oft see you from my gardens. You must be more reclusive than I. May luck cause us to cross paths soon, griffinslayer.

- Anora.

At first, the girl scowled. Oenidas was the only one allowed to call her such a nickname. Alas, free food. She was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. And, after dipping her foot tentatively in the bath, she discovered it was warm. Mood having increased considerably since arrival, she shrugged off her wet clothes, letting them descend with a plop. Grimacing, she slipped a hand beneath the plate containing the fruits, and debated taking it with her. In the end, she merely dragged the table within arms-reach of the bath, and caught sight of herself in the mirror, cracked and spotted with dirt as it was, she halted. Theda was thin, well suited to dancing from tree to tree, but muscles sat comfortably in her arms and legs, defining them, defining her stomach too, albiet slightly. What brought a wash of sadness to her, however, were her tattoos. Doe had never been old enough to get them, and they really were beautiful. Even to an Elvh who had sighted them on herself many a time, they still shocked her. With her white hair and eyes that differentiated in colour she really was an odd sight, not a desireable one. Apart from her tattoos. As she ran a hand o'er her stomach, bringing her fingers across the dark ink, etched into her skin she could only think of the delight in her little sisters eyes whenever she did the exact same thing with the markings on her older sisters face. How the girl would oft only be able to fit Thedas finger in her tiny palm, how her fingers would drag 'gainst her tattoos, only to rest on her lips as she giggled and babbled on about things of no import to anyone else but the two girls, alone in this land of Dragons and void of hope. Then she was gone. And now she was here.

The wet dripped from her eyes afore she realized, and with a strangled sound she forced herself to wipe them from existance, storming over to the bath, and allowing herself to be fully enveloped in the water, emerging completely soaked. Droplets of water caught on her lashes, dripping from them onto her knees, which she brought up to her chest to rest her chin upon. She stayed like this for a long time, afore reaching for the chalice of the strange liquid. It was bitter, but warmed her throat as it ran down, fizzing as she swallowed. A hint of berries was hidden amoungst the rich flavour.

"I think you'll find that's ale."

The newly discovered ale ended up half down her throat as the door shut, and there stood Oenidas with merely a towel around his front, and wet feet. Wiping his mouth, he sighed. "My bath was cold, shift over." Staring at him, mouth agape, before she practically threw the chalice down on the table and retreated to the foetal position. "Do you have no decency, Arisen? I am unclothed!" She practically yelped, glaring at him with those eyes. He seemed undeterred, even smiled.

"Theda, when have I ever shown signs of being interested in women?"

The girl blinked at him incredulously, slowly slipping from her defensive state. "Still it is...improper." But a deep chuckle rumbled from the man as he absently picked up the note she had left on the table. "If you had been speared, right through the body, by a Saurians spear, would it be improper for me to strip you of your cloth to treat the wound?"

This had her at a fault. It would be...wouldn't it? He shook his head. "I am of no desire to look upon you as a lecher, merely a friend. Or a man whose baths water were as cold as that of the sea in a harsh winter." Before she could protest, he dropped his towel, which was only really a sheet of some sort of animal fur, and propped himself opposite her. Luckily, the bath was spacious, and he had the manners to at least bring his knees up to hide any...spare parts. Arms crossed tightly 'cross her chest, she scrunched her lips to the side. "...So...you are not a man who finds pleasure in the company of women?"

"I used to. Then I...met someone." Tugging at his lip with his nails, he lifted his head to gaze out of the window. Theda shuffled, sloshing the water around her and coughing quietly. "You are very...open...with yourself aren't you?"

"What is the point of keeping a hold on my social life? I am the Arisen, none of that matters any longer, nothing does, except my duty to the land." He spat the word like it was a bad thing. Theda laxed a bit, still near-rigid at his presence and...nakedness. "Would you...like to discuss it?"

The man shifted his eyes to her, and his smile widened in something of an adoring way, at the woman who much resembled a child at this point, innocent and concerned. "You are normally very bad at this, aren't you?"

The ice was cracked, and she returned the smile, chest jolting in a chuckle. "I am not one to offer condolences. I don't understand sympathy. I prefer empathy."

"You're doing fine, griffinslayer." Rubbing the stubble of hair on his chin, he exhaled. "Valmiro, his name is. Always running into adventure without a second thought. Almost like me. The man could shock a chimera with his gall. I had just rescued him from expiring after a long day of 'adventuring' when I had to leave for Gran Soren. It's been...near a week now."

"You miss him."

"I do. And I know I can't return to Cassardis, not for a long while yet."

"Why?"

This had him at a loss, it seemed. He just shook his head. It was quiet for a while.

"Oenidas, why did you...save...me?"

The Arisens eyebrows raised, and he grinned. "Because I like you. Do I need another reason?"

Thedas lips tugged lightly, spreading to a smile, with a genuine feeling she hadn't felt in a while.

"Well...I'm glad."


	8. To Fill A Hollow Title Pt 1

Annex of the Seventh - Part 1

**Going to add more heat in this chapter. c: With both Oenidas, Theda, and their pairings. Heh heh heh.**

The waters had run cold when they finally drew their conversation to an end. What had started as a rather awkward encounter, slowly warmed by the middle, ending with much laughter and more personal discussion. Theda also, at one point, switched sides upon demand of Oenidas, so he could imagine the scabbed lashes upon her back, chuckling throatily upon hearing of her endeavour with Lord Julien that caused them to be issued as a consequence. He was also evidently enthralled with the pitiful stump that was her tail, nearly falling from the tub upon sighting it. This once again morphed to amusement as she wiggled it.

When he left, taking to striding through the duchy, soaking wet and half-naked, with his fur wrapped only around his lower half, Thedas mood remained well - increasing as he returned with a bundle of armour. Seems he had been scolded for his indecency, as clothes now adorned his figure. Even if they were only rags of cloth that barely clung to his form. Laying the adornments upon the floor, she near fell from her stance upon sighting what he had managed to obtain. The traditional Elvhan garb lay before her, consisting of a leather plating that covered the neck to just rest above her midsection. However, falling under that was a sheen of white-gold fabric, not much to the eye, but its cotton twisting to to maintain excellent protection. Below that, was tied a dark belt, hanging from which was a material of red, widely contrasting with the hazeled leather. Boots of the same armor as the plating rose to the knee. Theda could not thank him enough but...then drew close the inevitable question; what were they all for? These offered better protection than her other adornments. Oenidas ran a hand through his hair, huffing.

"We're to join the enlistment corps to battle the Gryphon. When the sun rises. They've...tracked it to the Bluemoon tower."

Theda stood, clutching her new clothes tight to her chest. "What?"

"...Did I stutter?"

"They're sending us up 'gainst a beast such as that with naught but five or so men at our heels? Do they think us immortal?"

Oenidas seemed to abhor the idea of enduring her rage. So he merely shrugged, and swept out the door faster than she could throw her boot at him, leaving her to spit Elvhani curses at nothing but the walls, then crawl to her bed in a fit of broody peak. It surprised her that she slept. So when she rose, well rested, her spirits were high. Then she could sight of her poor boot, still lying crumped against the door, and immediatly darkened. Her voice near a growl in her throat as she scooped it from the ground and tottered o'er to her bed, donning her armour, and storming from the hovel she now called home. Not afore admiring herself in her mirror however. Elvhan armour was a sight to behold in such a land.

Hair pinned up behind her head by will alone, the only thing she held high in value was perched atop her head, adding a sort of regal nature to her outfit - which was more practical than anything. Having switched her 'Magick Bow' for one of a plainer nature, and her posh daggers for simple Vouge ones, ripped from the head of a spear, having that golden circlet among her pale hair made her tilt her chin, and stride through the duchy. 'Till, a blue-eyed woman staunched her movement. The woman held a hand upon her blade as soon as she sighted the other girl, eyebrows raised. "You are the Elvh."

"Theda." The girl corrected, indignantly. "My name is Theda. But yes, I am of the Elvhanohn. You're the one from Hearthstone."

Ser Mercedes laxed, if only by a few inches. "I am Ser Mercedes. Sent to deal aid to Gransys in its time of need. Tell me, what is your purpose here?"

Scratching her chin with a thumb, Theda scrutinized the woman. There was something hostile in her gaze. Not unexpected of course. Most people greeted the elvh with that sort of gaze. "I'm here to aid the Arisen in his time of need, if you wish to coat it in a sickly sweet demeanor. If you want the hard fact - there is naught here that concerns me as prudent as your cause. As I'm sure you know already."

"Yes. Your land swore to aid its bordering countries many years ago if it was beset by the dragon. Be it Boldoa, Hearthstone, Gransys, or Leathruan. Yet, this 'aid' remains yet to be seen."

"My _people _swore no aid, more we were forced into it to staunch the rising of a civil war. Also, we will only send our aid if a representative of our kind observes the peril, and judges whether or not to call forth his or her fellow Elvahnikin. Seeing as I am no such person, they will remain in their land, and I here. Do well to remember that, human."

The sudden harsh manner of her words appeared to stun the woman, and she shook her head as if to clear it. "Forgive me. Worry for my men has me in turmoil. Our first meeting should not have been as such." Then she was gone.

With a grunt, Theda moved after her - only to switch directions upon reaching the stairs, trotting down them in such a manner that she caused much noise - with the heels of her boots slamming 'gainst the stone with irritance more than anything. Many in the Audience room and above turned their heads in her direction, and she met their gaze with a burning glare. Of course, so many disliking her was her own fault. But she preferred to only keep company of the highest value. People worthy of her respect, would recieve it. Nothing more, nothing less. This pompous humans deserved naught but her ire. So they would recieve it. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less.

It shocked her near to the core upon sighting the Arisen locked in a verbal combat with a both lanky, and bulky, fair-haired man. Both were donned in complete battle armour, though Oenidas had his company of pawns at his heels, whilst Julien stood alone.

"My assistance would greatly benefit this journey. The road to the Bluemoon tower would take us directly past the Stone - the very place the men under my command reside and watch over the Southwest."

"This has been entrusted to us by the Duke himself, Julien. Your interference is more a hindrance than a help - you quell our journey by halting our movement here. Let us pass."

"You would trust your lives with those hired swords? Those mercenaries by any other name know not how to battle a beast of such proportion. They can barely wield a sword."

"Any that can wield a pointed stick would be welcome along to such a quest. It was one that favours both strength and number." Theda leapt from where she stood, landing before the two men. "You're both stubborn. Ser Mercedes' men are a hearty lot. So in that, Lord Julien, you are wrong. Alas, Oenidas, you are wrong in your assumption more help will not be needed. It could be done without, I am sure, I do not underestimate our skill but - it is a precaution we must be willing to take." The woman fixed them both with her mismatched eyes, an eyebrow lifting slightly in a challenging manner, as if willing them to argue. When neither did, she grinned smugly, and marched on. To Oenidas' surprise, Leythir trailed after her, and for once, not after him. Of course, after a few steps, his eyes travelled back to his master, awaiting him to give orders. Or follow. Or stop staring. In the end, Oenidas jogged to catch up with the Elvhan girl, who now strode, full of vigor, at the front of the merry band of misfits.

Julien knew not why he offered aid. Perhaps he wished to accumulate his thoughts on the two, or single out their strengths and weaknesses should they ever, almost inevitably, meet on the battle field. But as he found himself, shadowed by two of 'his' men, falling into step beside the party, he somehow knew, this was not the reason. He didn't even know it himself. Not yet.


	9. To Fill A Hollow Title Pt 2

Annex of the Eighth - Part 2

**THIS is where the Gryphon battle happens guys.**

**And thank you so, so much to for all your lovely reviews! Honestly, I woke up this morning and nearly choked on my crumpet when I saw them all haha. Oh and the hand thing, don't worry - I even failed at testing it myself three or four times. ;; **

**Oh by the way. I meant heat of battle. ;D Oh! I think I should also mention Elvhanohn are like...morally bad guys in the sense they are very bias and tend to crush any that go against their beliefs. c: This is mainly the Ancients however, and the Ancients are Elvhanohn only in name. They're actually pretty hulky, have ears about the size of a forearm, and horns, and usually either extremely light hair or extremely dark hair. **

Theda sat watch the first and only night they had to stop for rest. The Bluemoon Tower was closer than they had imagined, but night had fallen now, forcing them to halt their journey and seek refuge beneath a near-fallen tree that offered both warmth and obscured them from view. Juliens men and the Enlistment Corps had volunteered to take a trek onwards for a few miles more to survey the area, leaving only Oenidas, Theda, Julien, Leythir, and Serenade, who had once again journeyed from the Rift, to aid the Arisen and his party. All others were fogged with torpor and exhaustion from tumbles with many bandits on the walk to their current position. Julien had raised a hand to volunteer for first watch - but Theda brushed him off, taking the responsibility of a full nights watch for herself. Oenidas began to argue, stating they needed her alert for the Gryphon battle. None said it but, they all knew the beast would target her. The one who so severly injured it - supposedly the action that lead to its death. Though, either it was extraordinarily resilient, or someone did not want that Gryphon dead. Theda was livid however, and even skittered atop a tree afore any could stop her. Eventually, with a sigh, they four fell to sleep. The Elvh did a tremendous job considering, arrow always ready, string always stretched tight. Julien awoke at a time, only to find her still in the same position as she was when he dozed off. Heels of her feet 'gainst the lower branch, sitting sidesaddle on the upper branch, always poised to attack. At one point she faltered, as the wind nearly ripped a portion of cloth that was tied 'round her wrist from her grasp, and she abandoned everything to reach out and grab it afore it was too late. Tying it back from her wrist, her gaze held with the odd choice of accessory for a moment, then she was back to her battle-state. In the morning, when he woke from his sleep again, he inquired about it. The girl simply muttered "My sister gave it to me." And left the subject well alone - as if she didn't remember aught of when she acquired it. In fact, she recalled it clear as day. Doe had fallen, tearing her small shirt in the process. When Theda attempted to repair, the young, pointy-eared thing merely tied it loosly around her wrist. "Bracelet." She had stated. A token for her sister, the noblest and only warrior she had ever known.

Squashing the thoughts, she slipped her arrow back into her quiver and listened to the trouble voice of the Arisen, who stated the obvious by declaring neither party had returned from the scouting mission they sent themselves on. So, immediatly, they were off in search of both a Gryphon, and a bunch of human idiots who had gotten themselves lost. Well, idiots in the mind of a very miffed Elvh, of course.

The wind-barred path of the next part of the journey proved the most challenging thus far, as Snow Harpies plagued it. Theda got a good few with her arrows, whilst Julien and the rest of the party went for a more brutish approach - maces and swords and giant blades slashing everywhere to no real end. The highlight of the battle was when Theda was nearly carted off by one of the winged women, 'till she used the opportunity to bring it crashing to the ground beneath her, crushing its head with a well-placed knee to its skull. None even got the chance to sing their sirens song. However, upon entering the valley, the smallest of the group, being Theda, Serenade, and Leythir, were tossed about considerably, scrabbling for grip on the floor whilst being buffeted over by constant gales of wind. Oenidas' resulted to shifting Leythir onto one shoulder, and holding Serenade under his arm, trudging along with relative ease with the two in his arms. Julien looked to Theda, and she responded by gruffly scrabbling after the Arisen, muttering refusals to being carted around like a weakling.

Their troubles only started however, as they waited silently for Theda to rage her way after the party - who now stood at the mouth of the valley, free from the violent wind - and they reached the Bluemoon Tower. Three of them stared at it in pure awe - Julien was busy aiding Theda, who by now was near flying away - and begun to advance, trusting their fellow allies would catch up. And they did - both irate of course. Though Theda had recalled her manners and quietly thanked the knight afore moving on.

The crags held naught but corpses, as it was evident there was some sort of battle here. Mainly the bodies were of bandits, barely clothed men covered in fur armour. Fur armour. Really? Theda prodded one with her shoe, wrinkling her nose at the man. 'till Leythirs voice was heard.

"Arisen."

Gingerly, he drew a man from his side, and the corpse lay on its back for all to see its shield. Gran Soren shield. Julien closed his eyes. "He is one of mine."

All offered their condolences, though the fair-haired knight seemed not affected by his death nor their sympathies. Of course, Theda wasn't one to throw down how sorry she was. She merely bent to drag her fingers over the mans eyes, shutting his lids and allowing him eternal sleep, afore rising.

"Being killed by bandits is never an honorable death. But I am sure he was an honorable man. As were the rest who died even afore they reached the Gryphon." Gesturing mildly to the rest of the bodies, each sporting the garments of Gran Soren - whether they be Enlistment Corps or Men of the Stone. There were roughly four of them. To her surprise, this appeared to affect Julien more than sympathy did. But instead of sorrow in his gaze, there was a hint of resentment. Of her, her words, or even his own men she knew not. Then she realized, they were not his men. Not really. Soldiers given to him, probably more as a peace offering than anything. A gift to a knight from Boldoa, who rode to Gransys to offer aid against the Wyrm. A gift that perhaps was not as appreciated as it was thought to be.

Marching on, the sky had begun to thicken with an orange haze - leaving them all to curse their luck and quicken their step. How long had they been out there? Surely the valleys and crags had not taken them more than a few hours, and they awoke at the crack of dawn. Perhaps they had whittled away their time with the battle with the Snow Harpies. Perhaps Bluemoon Tower had more to it than it seemed. Either way, they all drew their weapons, and remained ever-vigilant as they neared the gates of the Bluemoon tower.

And enter the Bluemoon tower they did. As soon as they set foot on the bridge leading to the building, clashes of swords and yells shot to their ears, spurring their movement. "Come, we must aid the men!" Serenade called as she near sprinted to a man who lay in a pool of his own blood, hands beginning to glow with whatever mana she held deep within her blood. Oenidas wasted no time in losing himself in battle, newly acquired sword swinging from side to side, decapitating Skeletons and skewering Harpies. Leythir worked in his own calm way, eradicating the beasts that even dared to breathe in his masters direction as soon as he caught sight of them. Juliens mace found the skulls of many a harpy, the adrenaline of battle drowning him as he cleaved a path to the men of the Stone that had accompanied them. Until something hard hit him on the back of the head.

Whirling, mace at the ready, he glared into the eyes of an oddly composed Elvh. "Throw me -in that direction." She ordered, whipping her hand South.

The lids of pale blue eyes blinked twice. "I beg your pardon?"

"Throw me, now!" And the ferocity in her voice was enough to convince him. Roughly, he gripped her waist, which was shockingly thick with muscle, and flung her form where she had demanded. Theda streamlined through the air, managing to whirl and kick out at a group of walking bones that had cornered Ser Georg, arms spread as if in flight, daggers severing the heads of any that weren't obliterated by the force of her body hitting theirs. They nodded in a paced manner, then seperated, and Julien managed to smirk at her skill afore he was dragged back into battle. Soon, his enemies lay at his feet, and he looked to his companions. Theda was coated in blood, but it merely gave her a fiercer look than she already bore. Those country eyes steeled 'gainst the gore that was scattered beneath her, unphased. Oenidas' represented everything the Arisen stood for in that moment, strong, foolhardy perhaps, but determined, with his blade laying across his shoulder and a broad grin on his face, that brown skin flecked with red. Leythir quietly cleaned his blade, his side touching his Arisens, whilst Serenade tended to the wounded. These were to be the saviours of Gransys. And it was like a stab of pain to the knight to be company with such people that he aimed to murder, alongside the entire country they now called home.

His eyes must have fixed to a certain spot in the distance, because all that could rouse him from his own mind was the gentle touch of the magi Pawn. Serenades eyebrows quirked. "Do you fare well, Julien? Are you ill?" Theda, Oenidas and Leythir were also fixated on him. Oenidas' was more glaring through slitted eyes, but the spark of concern in all of them stole his words for a while.

"I am fine."

"Good." Oenidas huffed, kneeling to speak to a soldier. Ask them how they got here. When they got here. All the poor sod could manage was; "Ser Georg and his men have gone on ahead...please, help them!" Then he curled into a reclusive state, and spoke naught else. Theda caught eyes with the Arisen.

"That does not bode well in my mind. We should hasten to the top of the tower."

The stairs were ridden with bones. Walking bones. Skeleton warriors, magi. There came a time where they were forced to merely start throwing them off the sides to save time and energy, as the remaining soldiers who volunteered to accompany them were picked off, one by one, and Theda finally whipped her head around, hair having escaped from its previous tidy updo, and which was now stained in blood. Under her arm, she held an unconcious man, his sword still held in his hand while another protruded through his gullet. "Oenidas! They're getting slaughtered!" The sheer desperation in this proud species shot a hole through even the Arisens confidence. Eyes swam with an expression close to fear, as she tried so hard to save the life of a man she knew not. A week ago perhaps, she would have cared naught for any human. To see such a vast change in such a short time...

"Fall back, soldiers! Tend to your wounded outside the boundaries of the tower!"

Juliens voice rang, echoed, pierced through the air. The effect was immediate, soldiers abandoned their weapons to scoop the dying up and cart them away. The remaining skeletons skewered some of them, and would have severed Julien in two as well, as he attempted to aid his men, rescuing them from the ground, passing them to able-bodied soldiers who could carry both themselves and an added dead weight. But in his distraction, a sword rose. A blade wielded by the dead.

With a rush of air, a dagger splintered the skull of the assailant, emerging through an eye socket whilst the bone crumbled to dust around the steel. Theda was poised behind the undead, catching the gaze of the one she had just rescued.

"You owe me one, fools knight." She cocked a side of her lips, then whirled and danced to the Arisens side, awaiting Julien to follow.

"The gate is near fallen! Help me!"

The cry of Ser Georg roused them to action, as they sprinted to what he needed aid with. A gate lay barred by a plank of wood, sturdy enough that four armed men could not demolish it. Oenidas ran, full speed, the menacing weapon he called 'Dragons Bite' raised - only to swing down upon the now frail wooden object, cracking it instantly. The gate ascended, and the now nine men near fought to get through, as a Gryphon cried from the Heavens.

Theda felt it in her blood, the rush she had experienced upon her first sighting of the mighty beast. Sure enough, as it rose from the chasm that extended below them, wings spread, its eyes bore down on her, the scar her dagger had left atop its head almost gleaming with the same fury as its gaze.

"Don't stop!" Ser Georg was behind her, forcing her onwards. "We are exposed here! Break open the next gate!"

No. That would take too long. Lives would be lost. The Gryphon was coming. She could feel it.  
"Nahn. Na'seren asulin!" She snarled, more to herself than anyone else. The words she spoke were a challenge. A challenge to the beast, a challenge to herself.

No. No one else!

Her feet slammed 'gainst the cobbles of the stairwell as she near flew upwards, splaying her hand on boxes that barred the path and vaulting over them with ease. This was what she was good at. This was what she lived.

Lightning forked at her heels, only spurring her on to run faster. And she did. Reaching the lever was the easiest task she had accomplished for a long while, and as she yanked it down, she saved a life. Ser Cyrus' hand squeezed on her shoulder, panting. "You've gone and made a debtor of me."

Theda smiled.

The victory was short lived however, as a sharp scream, a male scream, made them jolt.

"Ah! Ser Westley!" Serenade was the first to notice. The Gryphon had him in his claws, suffocating him, dragging him atop one of the gates in preparation for a feast. But the pawn either acted on reflexes, or performed a random act of extreme valour that saved the mans life. Drawing her hand back, she snapped her palm open and in an instant, the beast was enveloped in flames. As it was forced to retreat to the skies, its wings bellowing in an attempt to quench the flames, Ser Westley fell to the ground with a mighty grunt.

"It comes!"

"Everybody, drop! Drop to the ground!"

Oenidas voice roared a command that no soul in that area ignored. Nine bodies sprawled as the beast raged, careening into the gate that would have otherwise been rusted shut. Impossible to open.

It had saved their lives without even realizing.

Then the ground began to give way.

"Hurry!" Theda shrieked, flinging herself from the ground and pushing from her heels, gripping the collars of as many as she could, forcing them to stand. Stand and run, as the stones fell from their feet with each step they took.

The beasts cries only gave them reason to make haste, as they tore along the outskirts of the tower. Julien charged in front, for such a bulky man, he would challenge even the fleetest of foot in a chase. Theda followed, with the Enlistment Corps behind, and finally, Oenidas. He brought up the rear, and was the last to skid to safety, chest heaving considerably.

"Come! We shall honour their sacrifice in kind. To the Griffin!" Leythirs voice seemed to stoke morale, as all who were there, repeated his words like a sacred chant.

"To the Griffin!"

The stairway proved difficult, the already battered party could barely draw breath. But with each step they took, their courage grew, each had a desire to avenge the fallen. Each had a hatred for this beast that had caused so much death. Each held a weapon they hoped to drive through the beasts heart, and end its terror for good, where Theda had failed. But none felt as strongly, as the Elvh herself.

This was her fault. All these deaths. She had not been strong enough to defeat the mighty creature.

She would not make the same mistake twice.

The Gryphon parted its beak in a mighty arc as they neared the tip of the stairway, spreading out on the large, circular tower that was to be their battle field. Its shriek, was answered with a mighty roar. A battle cry from nine men and women. Nine warriors. In that moment, nine heroes.

The thing ran at them, full pelt, causing those in its immediate path to hasten out of its beeline. Theda, Julien, and Ser Cyrus dropped and rolled to the side to avoid its claws, which splayed and shut as if to trap them, only to fling them from the edge to their death. When its immediate attack failed, it reared for another try, but blades were already raised, arrows were already knocked, magic was already conjured. In an instant it erupted in blood, flame, and bowfire. But this seemed only to stoke its ire. With a mighty flap of its wings, it extinguished the fire, and rose above them, forks of blue fanning through its feathers as it prepared for a more magickal approach.

"We'll get nowhere whilst it's aloft."

An arrow whistled through the air, barely scraping its thigh. The next, however, hit home. Its intention was not to harm however. Theda wanted its attention. Now that she had it, she sent an arrow in the direction of Oenidas. When he turned to her, shocked, she explained. "Use your blade to lift one of us!"

"What?"  
"Your weapon! Use it -" A flash of white, and she barely managed to throw herself out of the way as the beast descended. "Throw someone to the Gryphon!"

Oenidas understood of course, but he was only human. That type of strength was...impossible. But as he looked on at her, dodging beams of death from the Gryphon, his eyes set firm. And he lodged his weapon under the feet of whoever was closest. Which of course, was Leythir.

Just as his pawn took flight, a familiar voice near halted the battle. "Hail, Arisen! My thanks again for your aid in time past!"

"Steffen? By the Maker! It is - " Oenidas rolled to avoid the creatures tail. "It is good to see you, my friend!"

"I come now to lend my support, with the same prize you claimed for me!"

Luck would have it that Leythir fell from the thrashing beast just as it plummeted to the ground, and Oenidas could barely make out the words -

"Let's see how this creature takes to my _arcane magick!_"

A bolt of flame erupted to a cloud 'gainst the creature, catching its feathers in a flurry of orange. A triumphant bark of laughter rang through the entire tower, as it crashed to the cobbles. It was almost instantly swarmed, with cries for revenge and death on the tongues of all, and Steffen evidently having the time of his life in the background. Juliens mace smashed against its bones, Oenidas sword cleaved its tail in two, Leythir hacked at its wings whilst the two mages continued their attack with fire. The creature shrieked and flailed, and finally drew back into the air - taking Julien and Theda with it, both of which still clung to the creature in an attempt to weigh it down.

Everything next, happened so fast.

One moment, they were flying. The next the Gryphons wails were cut short by a sudden flurry of magick. It fell, its body connecting with the harsh stone of the towers floor. The battle was nearly won. The beast had merely to fall from the edge that it landed on - which was sure to happen, as it thrashed so much, it was soon half way off.

But two people still held to that beast. Julien struggled to find a way to detach himself without dropping to his own demise, but he could not. All hope drained from his body as he watched his purpose fizzle and die, his quest left unfinished by his sudden and gruesome sacrifice to kill this beast. Then a hand closed around his wrist, and he was staring into the mismatched eyes of the woman he had forgotten still held tight to the Gryphon, for the same fear as he. For a moment he gazed, afore he realized.

Theda was prizing his fingers from the grip he held on the beast.

Panic seized him. He was a fool to believe in her, to trust any of them, to trust Oenidas, Theda, Leythir, anyone. They were all the same. This woman held his life in her hands and in an instant -

- she loosened his grip, and shoved him hard in the chest.

"Go!"

As he fell back against solid ground, that was all she managed to scream at him. Before the beast twisted, writhed -

and dragged her to her death.


	10. Love Is Not A Victory March

**ANNEX OF THE NINTH**

**I apologize for the ridiculous wait. I've been busy lately, but now I assure you - I'll attempt to be more active in dishing out the chapters. (: (Warning - Thedas injuries are really graphic.)**

Something was broken. Everything was broken. To explain what caused pain would take an age. It was much easier to say what wasn't causing her complete agony.

In storybooks and old nurses tales, t'is said that when one falls from a great distance, plummeting to the ground - everything reduces to nothing around them. Time slows, vision darkens, hearing is blocked by the rush of air. None of this was true. Theda had felt the impact from the force and speed of which she fell, seen her salvation in the form of footholds and grips in the rocks slowly fade from view, and heard a familiar voice scream in an unfamiliar tone.

Anticipation grew as the thundering clash of the Gryphons body 'gainst stone, grew and blocked her throat so any attempt to even whisper her fear would have been futile. Then, her back was the first to crack on the ground, followed by her skull, which opened and bled , soaking her pale hair in the deepest of red. After mere seconds of her fall, already she choked on her own life, wishing that it had ended painlessly. Though, dignity soon won over self-pity, and with an effort, she quelled the soft whines that drew from her vocal chords, like a wounded animal.

"Theda!"

Oenidas was so far now. Only a speck in the sky, a worried one. Beyond worry. White-knuckled as he almost lunged over the edge after her, rescued from his foolish endeavour by a knight who happened to be close. Their exchanging of words was drowned by a reverberant ring - and short, strained puffs of air from her left side.

With naught the strength to turn her head on its side, she attempted to roll her eyes in the direction of whatever it was on her left. As her hearing steadily rolled back to her, raspy exhales soon pushed forth the explanation. The Gryphons head lay just by her arm, having survived the fall just as much as she. The wound on its skull had reopened, leaving a gash where it had split upon reaching the end of its fall. Its chest meekly rose and fall. It was dying, and Theda gave a huff of indignation - which she soon regretted as strokes of pain worked through her chest. After a while, she assessed the damage on herself, and wished she had not.

From what she could see, her ribs were snapped. Shown quite evidently by two of them protruding from her flesh itself where she had hit the ground in an awkward position. One of her kneecaps bent inwards, her lower leg totally out of sync with the other. The agony her spine caused her made her wonder how she still lived - or how it wasn't broken in two by the fall. Perhaps luck. Perhaps the Gods didn't want her to die yet. Either.

The Gryphon gave a strangled whimper, desperately trying to claw itself from its position - but its head lulled to the side, weighing it down. Its limbs twitched, its eyes closed, but still it fought for life. Theda stared for what seemed an age, 'till the creature she twice slew raised its eyes to hers, and went still - except for the constant convulsion of its chest as its lungs exerted themselves. A claw scraped along the ground, and in its last movement, it crawled closer to the Elvh who had proved its demise. Thedas eyes fluttered shut, praying for the beast to end her, nose her over the edge, into the water.

Instead, its beak inched into her open palm.

What was it doing? Lips parting in what she could express as shock, her lids re-opened. The beast nudged her hand, more tenderly than anything. A rush of air in the form of a grunt escaped from it. Its eyes pleaded for something.

With whatever she could muster in her strength, pity splayed her hand. The feathers of the Gryphon were soft, a change from the harsh cold of stone that she lay upon. The rumble of its breath quietened, and it made a sound - so she did it again. Stretching and recoiling her fingers through its feathers, running a thumb o'er its brow, careful not to disturb its wound. Thedas breath was dragged into a lump of sorrow, and surprise at its actions. Driven to seeking comfort in its dying seconds in the very one who had taken the life of such a proud creature, the Gryphon ceased all attempts at clinging to life.

Theda was near-delirious. By the time the mana worked its way through her veins, it was already too late. Her hand rested on the beasts wound, and she watched through hazed eyes as something else took control of her form. Light leaked through her fingers, and blood ran from the floor, retreating back to where it belonged - inside the Gryphon. The beast gave a cry - but made no effort to move, merely stared at her. And as the wound drew closed, its life drew back from ebbing away.

Though Thedas went dark.

Oenidas smoothed the hair of the girl back as she recovered from another of her 'episodes.' He had rushed her back to Gran Soren two moons ago, and she had shown no signs of wishing to co-operate with the strangers that worked on returning her to her strength. Injuries having near-faded from the intense magi-healing she had endured, her shallow breathing still offered no comfort to the Arisen. Her life was not restored just yet.

It had taken roughly five nurses and himself to restrain her on the first day. Conciousness floated back to her, and in a blind panic she lashed out, reopening the many lacerations on her form as she frantically attempted to escape from these strangers, wielding sharp objects and magick. That very conciousness had to be stolen for her to finally calm, and return to her comatose state. Oenidas had been by her side e'er since he had heard her singing something in Elvish. He had entered, padding softly to her bedside, until she refrained from making any noise at all. When he had made for the door, however, she lifted her arm, closing her hand around his wrist. That hand was now encased in both of his. It had been for two days.

On the third sunrise, she awoke. On the fourth, she spoke to people. On the fifth, her courage and pride won o'er her pain, and she arose from her bed.

Juliens knuckles whited with each passing day he refused to return to Gran Soren to check on the woman. She was dead, he knew it. He saw the state she was in. None could endure that. If only he had reached out to grab her before she fell.

But no, he had stared, all her offered was a hoarse cry when he realized what had happened. It hit like an arrow - and he knew not the reason. If his home was to prevail, if his quest was to prevail, all would have to die. Theda, the Arisen, Leythir, the Duke. In a way, it was easier this way. The thought of watching her die upon his sword made his stomach churn in a way that stung his eyes.

Pushing from his desk, his cape swirled 'round his feet as he marched through his tower. This fools gift from a fool duke. Ser Daerio stood at his usual post, glancing at his Lord with a hint of unexpectancy in his gruff eyes. Afore he could even speak however, the blonde-haired knight reached him, his voice all but a snarl.

"'Tis time for this land to burn."


	11. Pride Before A Fall

**THE TENTH ANNEX**

**I think I'm going to offer some base ideas of how I've reconstructed some of the areas in Gran Soren to avoid confusion. I've always felt the Inn to be **_**entirely too small **_**- so I changed it. It will still have the desk and board, but it will lead out to a much, much larger area such as ****this** - **with rooms for rent above. Like a wee tavern. The Dukes Demense will also be larger are more regal. (I also felt that was too small. I mean. He killed a damn dragon.) And will have additional rooms such as a 'ball room', which occasionally has a lengthy table in the middle for feasts. Also, the music of the dance, and what the dance later on is based on, comes from **this

The music in this overly jolly place matched its description. Drunkards and lesser folk chanted the rather unimaginative lyrics of ol' tales melded into songs for the amusement of such beings. Theda gripped a flask of ale tight 'tween her hands, white knuckled, as if the thought of it being stolen was the only one on her mind. However, t'was not. What currently occupied her ordinarily calm, collected process of thoughts was what had happened afore she'd been near forced to abandon the demense. For the sake of any in her way more than hers. The Duke had arranged a 'festivity' to take place in celebration of the Arisen and his companions valiant defeat of the mighty Gryphon. The blathering idiot summoned the still semi-wounded Elvh, Oenidas, Leythir, and the rest of their company, along with a fine selection of the court (excluding Julien) to announce the time, date, dress code and invited party of his 'honored celebration.' Fine wine, music, and company. Though of course, Oenidas and Theda were highly discordant of this. So whilst Oenidas had taken his shire to ride the days journey to Cassardis in veiled fury, Leythir and his pawns at his heel, Theda had declined his offer to accompany the man and decided to wade into the filth of this tavern to drown her malcontent in whatever sludge they served as alcohol in this place.

Of course after a mug or two of ale and the occasional conversation from a passing man or woman, Theda found she settled quite merrily into the pleasures of poor life. Many had eyed her as she entered, an odd elf, having undergone one of her last growth spurts in recent weeks she now bordered 5'8, ears out like a sore thumb and adorned in a large, brown shirt she had stolen from the Arisen, with boots and black trousers, her white hair strung up into a bun she had kept a hand on her satchel as she stood, form erect, as she made for the nearest seat and slid into it, the furs of some dead animal cushioning her. To her astonishment, her eyes singled out three pointy-eared individuals from the crowd. Though, these were not Elvh of Drazeelgahnen – they were travelling Elvhs. Born on the road. Yet when they saw her, the three male Elvh practically fell o'er themselves, making a beeline for the table she so peacefully sat at. Ech, Ern, and Eon. Brothers. Ech was the oldest, of his 27th year, his hair was short, though one side was cut away to reveal an intricate pattern, delicately razored to reveal his dark skin beneath. Ern had a flurry of blonde hair, plaited back to an up-do, the free strands hanging out of a messy tie. Eon only had a strip of hair running from his hairline, into a ponytail at the back of his head. Though he was the youngest, he bore the same look at Ech, each side of his head shaved away to reveal tattoos where he lacked hair. Their animated chattering about their battles with Aswang and Ogre alike, along with their avid questioning of this 'genuine Elvh' that sat in front of them did a great service to Thedas mood.

"You might want to ease up on the drinking, lass." Came the throaty chuckle from Eon, the twenty-year old tapping her fourth empty mug. Though it was answered with a smile. "It puts me in a better mood."

Though of course he was right. Theda and her newfound Elvhen friends were at that tavern until indecent hours. Light had long since dawned when Oenidas found her, light-headed and cheeks pink as she chuckled about something inconherent to him and his party, surrounded by three Elvhen lads, and a human woman who must have joined in at some point. The Cassardi man rubbed the newly-formed stubble on his chin, and cleared his throat.

"I was told I may find you here."

The world spun and shook with even the simple task of turning her head to settle her gaze on the man, but she managed it, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle a chuckle as she attempted to answer him. In the end, Ern, who was perched comfortably t'ween his older brother and Theda, scowled. "Y'are that Arisen fellow? Well, why don't'cha leave her to some fun for once?"

"Fun meaning drowning herself in ale whilst possibly endangering herself to having her chest burst open from recent injuries combined with frivoulous activity?" He'd quelled the argument afore it even began, and with a huff, Theda extracted herself from her seat, and wobbled afore the Arisen. "And I thought you'd approve of my change in attitude."

Allowing himself a smile, the Arisen allowed her to bid her friends goodbye, the promise of reunion staying the grin on her lips as she did her best to follow without bumping into anything. Or anyone. It lasted well, 'till she strode outside and failed to comprehend how far the fountain was from the Inns entrance. Oenidas was tempted to run and see how far he could get without the consequence of her throwing bricks at him for the next week or so, but in the end he simply chortled as she escaped from the water, much to her own dismay, lifting her up to carry her the rest of the way.

Oenidas knew Theda by now. As well as any could, the girl was an enigma in herself, but he understood even in this state, she would rather him lower her to her own feet to enter the courtyard, and then the Demense. So he did, letting her slip to the ground, then tugging her clothes into shape, smoothing her hair back. The dip in the water had sobered the Elvh, but she still smiled muzzily at him in response to his actions, so every now and then he nudged her to keep her from tripping over something, or perhaps a silent message to focus on her path, not a passing insect.

To both their surprise, Lady Aelinore was the first to greet them, and Oenidas' jaw set firm. The female appeared the detect the hostility, as she flinched, alas he did not falter in his glare. "My Lord Arisen." She started -

"I am no Lord, Duchess. You will not place false titles on me."

"Apologies." Her eyebrows struggled not to furrow, as she took a deep breath and arched her back in an attempt to rise further from the ground. "I've been asked to prepare Theda for the coming festivity. A dress is being made for her."

"She can attend in her armour. I assure you that is her preference."

"Why don't you let her speak for herself?"

Theda was distracted from a bird that twittered past by two sets of eyes suddenly fixated on her. With Aelinore and her pleading blues, and Oenidas, the dark orbs of his eyes expectant, Theda only had one thing to say.

"I'm going to be violently ill."

Thankfully, the inveitable was stayed 'till Theda reached a solitary area. From there, she managed to manouver through the gardens, the demense, cross the audience room without repeatedly stabbing Feste in the head, and fall into the bath that was waiting. Her form slid more and more into the water with each passing second, 'till she was fully underwater, eyes fluttering open. Being more accustomed to being immersed in water than alcohol, this was a welcome change, and her species allowed her to stay in such a position for a longer time than most. When she finally arose for air, the world had halted its movement, and now went on at a comfortable, non-spinning pace.

Sleep followed her bathing, and she was flushed to discover upon her awakening the sun perched happily in the middle of the sky, signalling she had woken far too late. Marvelling at her ability to sleep, whilst also narrowing it down to the stomachfull of ale she had consumed, she fell from her bed and peeped from behind the safety of her door, out into the space beyond. Leythir had been ambling in the opposite direction, but she hissed his name and he jumped, startled as he spun around. Beckoning him to the door, he obidiently followed her lead, though his expression soured. "You could perhaps summon me nicely."

"Where is everyone?"

Leythir ran a hand through his hair, raising an eyebrow. "Getting ready for the large festivity the Duke is arranging."

A loud, anguished groan rang through the area, as she sunk 'gainst the door. "I had forgotten. You could have at least allowed me a mere second of bliss afore burdening me with the foreboding of socializing with these idiots."

"That's a lot of fancy words for one sentence, Theda. I am sure you will do fine with the nobles. And your penchant for drinking will surely do you no harm at a party such as this...you are bleeding."

And so she was. Whether it had been her fidgeting in her sleep, or the rather violent was she had fell into her bath, or events before that, but they had rattled the precarious way in which her ribs had been put back together. Though not fatal, it would stain her dress.

Her dress.

Okay, maybe this wasn't such a bad thing.

"Come." The Pawn sighed. "I will change your linen wrap, then we can proceed to get you properly fitted for the occasion."

The Elvh proceeded to sulk as he tugged the bandages around her form, complaining, then stating that Elvhanohn took no part in such fantasies, so garments such as 'dresses' were not desireable and were not practical in their country. "If I must wear tights, you must wear a dress, Theda. This Pawn has already considered throwing his outfit from atop the highest tower, but that would not bode well with the surrounding humans."

Theda allowed herself a smile. Admittedly, other than Oenidas, his pawns were the only ones she was truly comfortable in, within the fact they were not human – much as she was not. "Plus -" He added, " - The Arisen placed the head of the Gryphon in your hands, so to speak. The guards spoke of all our honour and valor equally, but you saved Ser Julien and brought the beast down once and for all. Seeing as the Lord Knight could not make it until this evening, Oenidas spoke for you, and so did we. It is only befitting the Gryphonslayer should look her best."

For a moment there she paled. Had anyone seen the act she had committed? Whether the Gryphon had survived or not was trifling for now, what truly mattered to her was holding close the secret that gnawed at her insides. No one could see her mana, else her visage was pointless.

One final tug, and with a rather painful twinge the deed was done. Her bandages were tight enough to hold her insides in through the night, but just right so they did not cut off her blood supply. "The soldiers spoke for me? Explain." Leythir chuckled. Theda was not one for understanding politeness in this land, and he held no grudge against her for her abrupt sentences.

"Ser Cyrus exclaimed he owed you his life. Ser Georg spoke of nothing but how he had misjudged you. His sincere condolences were offered also. Oenidas filled in for Julien. Explaining how you pried his hand from the Gryphon and saved him from the same fate you endured." Leythir finished tying off her linen, sitting back to admire his work.

"They respect you."

Lady Aelinore sat atop her bed, laying out her outfit for the night ahead. Her first thought was if the Arisen would find it desireable. Then it banished from her mind with how he had reacted upon their meeting at night.  
"You must think me a shameless harlot..."

That was when it clicked. When the Arisen brimmed with rage at her audacity. "I met you once, I gave you the wretched hat that Feste had bestowed upon me to lessen the nobles opinion of me as a friendly gesture and your first thought was to lure me to your chambers with a misinterpreted summon, and bed me? I do not desire the touch of a woman any more than I desire the poison kiss of a viper""

Aelinores eyes shut tight, and she pressed her palms to them in a brief effort to stem the flow of tears. At his vile words, and his saving of her life e'en though it resulted in his torture. Despite all this and more, she still admired him. Still ached for her brave hero. Still boiled with envy at the sight of him with the Elvh.

Though the girl also fascinated her. How the seemingly young woman could be so stoic, so proud, in the face of one who terrified her so. The one she was married to. A wedding not for love, more for his own selfish desire.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the hesitant rapping upon her door. "Enter." She called, and enter they did. Theda pried open the door and stepped forth into the tiny room the Duchess called home. There was a rather awkward silence, until it was broken by the ethereal accent of the woman who stood before the noble. "I am here to collect my...garments."

The Duchess giggled. "You mean your dress?"

Theda reddened. "Szin." She muttered. For a moment the Duchess heard only 'tsin', afore the realization this was her native word for 'Yes' dawned on her.

"You are not excited for the coming affair?"

"I would be a little more comfortable in the armour or celebratory clothing of my people."

"And how do those things differ from ours?"

A pause, as she shuffled. "Our...'dresses'...are not as revealing as..." She gestured to the item of clothing that rested upon the bed. "Highly impractical. Upon the event of attack, how would I defend myself? Perhaps snap off the heel of those ridiculous shoes and poke my assailant full of tiny holes?"

"If those tiny holes were deep enough, they could be fatal."

"Dependant upon whether or not those tiny holes were poking into a mans heart."

"Or a womans."

Theda huffed, edging closer to the dress. Though from the way she grimaced, one would imagine she had been asked to don the flesh of a Saurian. The Duchess quietly observed her discomfort. "We had it tailored to you, if that makes you feel quite better about it. Here." Standing, her petite form was dwarfed by the one of the Elvh next to her. Theda was slim, but thick with muscle, defined most on her legs and arms, while the Duchess struggled not to feel like a slip of straw.

Aelinore bent to pick up the crumpled fabric from the bedcloth, and when it was held before her, even Theda could not help but feel a tinge of admiration. Aelinore caught this, because she smiled. But the Elvh merely scowled.

"'Tis still impractical." She began, but was cut off by a dark-haired young man bursting through the door.

"Pardon me!" He panted, much in the same accent that the Arisen held - "but would someone please assist me with these boots?"

The ball was everything it was expected. The ceiling bore paintings of ferocious battles, warriors, barbarians and of course, dragons. Tables of food and wine spread against the wall, the candles of the chandelier above them sent rays of light that flickered against the gold framing of the ceiling. Windows ran along one side of the large room, to give sight of Gransys, lit by the pale moon and the fragments of yellow that escaped from the room itself. Nobles were introduced by the booming voice of one Lord Aronium Cortez as they entered, faking smiles and eyeing up the drinks on offer. Oenidas had entered the room with his faithful pawns at his heel mere second ago, and already cheers ran throughout the Demense at – 'the protege of Duke Dragonsbane.' Fighting a cringe, and clad in the finest of clothing, he made his way to Ser Mercedes, who by whatever luck had managed to hold onto her armour.

"Why were you not forced into ridiculous gear to attend this ridiculous ceremony?" He grumbled, gripping a bottle of wine by its neck and swigging from it, much to the disgust of a passing noble. The woman laughed, shaking her head. "I am a knight. My armour is my badge of honour in my eyes. I refused to wear anything but."

"Fortune smiles upon you, dear Mercedes, for I am beginning to cramp."

Oenidas wore a velvet red shirt that hugged his torso completely, slightly parted in the middle to reveal, behind a layer of strings, a crisp white shirt, the sleeves of which escaped past the velvet to stop at his wrists, with dark trousers of the same fabric and leather boots. A cape was tied around his shoulders, bearing the mark of the Wyrm hunt, whilst a black belt rested at his waist. Ser Mercedes chortled once more, afore turning to face him. "Did you not journey to Cassardis to bring back a partner for this ball?"

"Is that what it is?" He huffed, wiping the top of the wine bottle. "Yes, I did. I believe...he is still preparing."

Silence fell, as each drank and sighed and hated everyone in the room, until the voice of Cortez rang clear.

"Lords and Ladies...may I present, Lord Julien of Boldoa!"

Oenidas near crushed the neck of the wine in his hand as the man strode into the room, the clapping of the crowd all that could be heard. As it always did, it died down eventually, but the knight was soon surrounded by interested parties. Questions about the Gryphon were the main topic of conversation from what the dark-skinned Arisen could hear, but the question on his mind was more important than that.

Like cattle, the crowd parted as the Arisen strode over to where the fair-haired knight stood, surprisingly not donned in his usual clothing. Instead, he wore a shirt of purple and gold, his lower half wholly brown, with a brown belt, matching shoes, and trousers of a slightly lighter shade of, you guessed it, brown. His cape still hung o'er his shoulder however. And his hair was as perfectly coiffed as always.

"Julien." Oenidas grunted. "You would appear to an event such as this, but not to the bedside of the creature who spared you death?"

Blue eyes near spilt with disbelief. "I assumed her dead. None could survive."

"Theda is hardier than you give her credit for."

His glare was unrelenting. The Arisen was waiting for an apology. But one ne'er came. More, it was interupted by yet another entry.  
"Lords and Ladies, it is my honor to present to you, Duke Edmun Dragonsbane, and his wife, Lady Aelinore of House Biquard!"

The Duke had made no effort to dress up. In his usual garb, he strutted proudly, and to a chorus of clapping and cheers from the nobles, whilst Aelinore aided in this with her gown of deep turquiose, and the intricate design of her hairstyle, whilst plaited on top, fragments of her blonde hair hung down her back. There wasn't long until the next announcement. A matter of seconds, perhaps. As the couple made their way arm in arm down the room, Cortez spoke with someone outside.

"Are...are you sure? From...alright. My thanks."

The man cleared his probably sore throat.

"Lords and Ladies, I present to you..."

He took a while to remember something. Or perhaps for effect.

"Valmiro of Cassardis, and Lady Theda Gryphonslayer, of Drazeelgahnen!"

Valmiro was the first to enter. In a suit similar to the Arisens, but more a green than a red, he made his way out from the door. Then Theda stepped forth, her pale arm reaching to entwine with Valmiros, oddly thin fingers clutching him out of nerves or embaressment.

The girl looked nothing like the fierce, battle-born being that she was known as. The gown that adorned her frame was as white has the hair on her head, a usually boring colour in contrast to the extravagence of the nobles clothing. But the cut was low across her chest, and spread far, her sleeves rested just below her shoulder, fringed to stand out from the rest of the adornment. The style was not the point of scrutiny. It was the tattoos.

Twirlings of auburn etched into her skin, the canvas of her flesh near-covered with beautiful, other-wordly designs. They framed her collarbones, ran from her chest to her neck, ornamented her face and cheekbones. What had been so easily dismissed in her armour, that was of an equal colour, now shone in contract with the lightness of the rest of her form. Sleeves had been cut to reveal the ink that ran along her arms, save for a near translucent fabric that hung from what little sleeves she did have. A gold sash had been tied around her waist, below that hung the gentle waves of the fabric of the rest of the clothing, that undulated with each step she took. The back of the dress dipped low, to reveal a skin-painting of a tree, surrounded with Elvhish words that naught knew the meaning of. The hair that ordinarily hung from her shoulders had been pulled back to rest in a series of plaits on her head, and so not to obscure the pointed ears that stuck from the side of her head. A white-gold circlet completed the effect, leaving the rest of her face bare to expose the contrasting colours of her eyes.

None cheered, none clapped. Stunned silence fell upon the men and woman of the court, the nobles, the pawns, the Arisen, and Julien. Until the Arisen tipped his head back swiftly, gaining him her attention. And with a subtle, concerned nod from her friend, Theda smiled. And so begun the applause. And the music.

Valmiro bounded over to the Arisen, leaving Theda to stomp after him, attempting not to trip and fall over her own sartorial. Oenidas could not help but grin as she approached, grumbling and scowling. "If looks could kill." Leythir commented, which earned a bark of a laugh from the Arisen.

"There is the Elvh we know and love!" Taking a moment to note the adoration the man so obviously held for her, and the man Valmiro beside her, she shrugged. "I do not bode well with gowns."

"I disagree, my lady."

The voice was soft, but recognizable. Julien watched her quietly, with an unreadable expression.

"Perhaps...we should leave." Oenidas stated, placing his hand on the small of Valmiro's back and leading him off somewhere. Thedas chest rose and fell steadily as she stared at the man in front of her. "Julien -"

"You look lovely."

"Don't cut me off."

The knight smirked, afore the grin fell as quickly as it came. "I thought you dead."

"Your faith in me is astounding."

"I tried complimenting you."

"That does not express your faith it expresses..." She paused. What did it express? Respect? The girl was confused. Confused at what her mind was telling her, confused at the sick feeling in her gut. Confused at his dopey expression. The man cleared his throat, regaining his usual demeanor in a second. "I apologize...I'm _sorry_, for not...visiting. It would have brought too much pain to see you in such a state or worse, no longer on this world."

"Dead."

Julien flinched, and that single expression melted her icey front a mere amount. "Well, it brought pain to me also to fall from a tower and shatter my bones. I did not complain. Or worse, hide from what had become of me."

"How does one hide from themself?"

That sentence struck hard, and Theda found herself swallowing over a thick lump that had formed in her throat. "They do not."

Turning her head, she caught sight of Oenidas leading the dark-haired Cassardi dweller out into the middle of the room, joined by Leythir and Ser Mercedes, Serenade and Ser Wesley, and others. When Julien next spoke, he was closer. "Would you like me to teach you to dance, tune player?" Without waiting for an answer, he took her hand in his, grip gentle as he led her out. Stuffing her nervousness into a corner of her mind, she followed, chin tilted back, until Julien shifted sideways and held up his arm, elbow bent so his forearm stood erect. Theda eyed him curiously.  
"Follow my lead."

So she did, her palm soon rested against his, and he nodded. "Well done. Step slow at first, in a circle."

"No music has begun."

"This is how we start." He gestured to the other nobles, who had done the same and now waited for the music to begin. So Theda obeyed, awaiting the next instructions. "Now, when the music begins, you won't be with me at first -"

"Pardon?"

" -Just follow the lead of the rest of the women."

Afore she could ask any more questions, the music began, and Julien lifted her, twirling and setting her in a large circle of roughly seven other women. And the Arisen. Apparently he had taken the role of woman in this dance, which amused Theda to no end.

"Don't worry." He whispered, as the dance began. "I've no idea what I'm doing either." Theda laughed as they all took off, following the lead of the noble in front of her by placing both hands on her hips, and bouncing around in a circle, occasionally kicking her legs up behind her as she hopped and ran. The men held their arms behind them, and she caught sight of Julien as she looked to her side, nodding his head and then jumping on the spot to face her. Mirroring his every move, they walked to pass eachother, spinning when they were close to the other and walking the rest of the way backwards. Despite herself, the entire time, Theda smiled, moreso to her discovery when the part of the dance came, when Julien stepped to her, dragging her arm to rest across his waist and doing the same to her, holding her arm to the side as they spun. There was the chuckle when they twirled the wrong way, or that one time where Valmiro tripped, bringing the Arisen with him to a chorus of laughter. The two merely grinned themselves, aiding the other to stand and continue the dance. At a time, they all had to separate for more spinning, merely with other people. Shoulders touching, Oenidas and Theda copied the movement of others as they stepped round in a circle, she then found herself dancing with Leythir, Ser Georg, and Mercedes as the dance proceeded, until a tug at her waist brought her back to Julien, slightly breathless from the events. The music stopped as each was brought back to their original partner, and cheers and claps rang loudly from dancers and observers alike.

"You dance well. For a foreigner." Julien commented, still as close to the woman as he was when they were dancing.

"As do you. For a foreigner." Thedas brows rose, and before she could react, he bent slightly, and his lips came into contact with hers. The action was brash, as if he had been holding back for far too long, but it softened, and although the gesture was not used much back in Drazeelgahnen, Theda soon picked it up. The kiss was returned, his hand, holding her to him, rested on the small of her back, whilst hers, perhaps out of shock, stayed where they were – one on his stomach, the other at her side. That sick feeling was back in her gut but, realization dawned that she had grown attatched to this man. This fool knight. And that thought, terrified her out of all rational thought. But among all the dizziness, the fear, this alien feeling that had buried in her stomach, she was content. Bliss. Something she hadn't felt in a long time and for that moment, those few seconds that the connection lasted, that one of his hands dropped and the tips of his fingers gingerly brushed her own, she was content to feel his breathing come and go with hers.

Speech betrayed them after that moment, Juliens lips parted but no words would escape. So instead, he gestured for her to follow – more pulled her – out onto the stretch of ground that continued outside the window. A balcony, she thought someone had said. "Why would you do this?" He whimpered, and for a moment seeing him so frail made her silent. "Everything was so easy until you came along."

"I don't understand -"

Julien shook his head, both hands going to rest at the side of her face, thumbs brushing the tattoos that indicated her cheekbones, afore his forehead fell to contact with hers. Still in shock from the abrupt change of attitude, her hands hung dumbly at her side. Then Julien was gone. He marched back into the room without another word. Whilst Theda stared after him, her hands clenched to fists, which she brought down on the stone of the gate that surrounded the balcony. Her head soon fell to lay against the cool rock, staying like that for a long while as the air skimmed across her neck. A feeling she knew naught of wracked her form, as a shaky sigh left her lips, and she rose her gaze once more to look out across the fields.

But fields were not what she saw in that moment.

In that moment, she saw an approaching army.


End file.
